


Avengers of the Stalag

by Punny_Puck



Series: POW Avengers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Movieverse), The Avengers (2012), The Great Escape (1963), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bruce is a Medical Doctor, Dramedy, Escape Attempts, Loki is Trying to be a Better Person, Loki is a Scrounger Extraordinaire, Multi, Nazis, No Powers Except Intellect, POW Camp, Peter is a Baby-faced Con Man, Plotty, Self-Harm, Swearing, War is hell, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 107,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punny_Puck/pseuds/Punny_Puck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is thrown into a new Nazi POW camp.  It's his fifth--or sixth--and he'd really like to make it to his fiftieth escape attempt this time.  But Stalag III isn't like any of the other POW camps he's been in.  He suddenly finds himself facing an impossible task:  Getting two-hundred and fifty men out of the camp in one massive escape attempt.  And dammit if he's not going to make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Prisoner in the Yard

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I must apologize for any inaccuracies that will inevitably arise in this fic. I read The Great Escape by Paul Brickhill (great book, I highly recommend it) in middle school and some of the details have faded. 
> 
> I also would like to thank ZombieAndy for listening to me rant about this fic even though its almost finals week and we're both going (more) insane.

Clint was the first to see the new prisoner.  Clint was always the first to see new prisoners; it was part of his job, sitting quietly in his nest in the rafters of the recreation hall.  He had the best view of the gates and he saw this one coming from about half a mile away on the gravel road.

The camp was laid out like a bull’s-eye, with the prison at the center.  The sleeping Huts, kitchens, rec-hall, and sinks were surrounded by sixteen-foot tall barbed wire fences with guard towers at the corners and every 200 feet in between.   Outside the prison-proper were the guard-grounds.  This consisted of guard barracks, officer quarters, offices, mess, kennels and the cooler.  This was surrounded by another high wall, this one of concrete and topped with more razor wire.  They were patrolled by guards and dogs. 

This was Stalag III, the prison-camp for the high-priority Allied prisoners of war. Prisoners from all the Allies were here: British, American, French, Canadian even.  Nationality didn’t matter, just as long as they were important enough (or notorious enough) to get in.

There were three ways to get a ticket to Stalag III, and none of them especially pleasant.  The first was to be born famous or rich or important.  Like if Winston Churchill’s son got himself caught on the Western Front.  The second was to piss someone off enough to be sent away from the lesser-security prisons.  That’s what Clint had done.  Well, that in tangent with the third way to be sent to Stalag III:  which was to escape from lesser camps enough to be considered “a serious liability to the efforts and morale of the soldiers” as Clint’s last Kommandant had said. 

The rec-hall was in the very center of the camp and was high enough for a full view of the entire camp except for inevitable blind spots behind buildings and in the lee of the wall.  Clint loved this place. 

He squinted his eyes as he looked into the Eastern sun and frowned.  It was a shiny black town car rather than a jeep or a truck.  That was not a good sign.  Jeeps and trucks meant infantry had picked up the prisoner and maybe interrogated them some and shipped them off for the Stalags.  Town cars meant Gestapo and Gestapo meant torture.  Clint swung down from the rafters and ran for Hut 12.

***

Tony regained consciousness somewhere between the car and the Kommandant’s office.  One moment he was floating the lovely black velvet of sleep; the next two Nazi Officers were dragging him by his elbows with his toes scuffing the dirt.  It was not a pleasant awakening. 

Tony knew better than to thrash.  It was an idiotic human impulse that did nothing but alert the enemy to one’s awakening.  This knowledge, unfortunately, did not stop him thrashing in the arms of his enemies and almost earning himself another blow to the head.  The only thing stopping the officer was the door to the Kommandant’s office suddenly opening. 

This Kommandant looked to Tony like every other German prison camp Kommandant.  Tall, thin, balding, with sharp pale eyes and a posture that suggested he had an iron rod rather than a spine.  In his spotless uniform, he looked like one of the toy soldiers that Tony had played with when he was five.  He’d always hated those toys.

The S.S. officers dragged him into the office and helpfully stood on either side of Tony.  He was glad because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do so by himself. 

Tony let himself drift as the Kommandant greeted the S.S. officers.  He knew he should probably be paying attention to what they were saying (they might mention whether he would be spending the remainder of the war in the cooler) but he couldn’t seem to focus.  The fourth blow to the head will do that to you, he mused to himself as he surveyed the office.

Pretty standard camp Kommandant’s office, he thought.  Huge damn eagle of the Nazi party on the wall behind the desk.  The desk itself was huge as well, and dark walnut besides.  This Kommandant certainly wasn’t a cheapskate when it came to his office.  Probably skimming off the top of the prison funds and letting the prisoners eat gruel, Tony thought bitterly.  He’d been to one of those camps. It was his fastest escape yet. 

The rest of the room was decorated in the same vein.  Prussian rug on the floor, leather-backed chairs, photographs Nazi-party rallies and the Fuhrer himself.  Tony fought the urge to make a face at the photo.

Tony looked up when he heard a suspicious silence. 

“Ah, Sergeant Stark, I see you have rejoined us,” The Kommandant said with a smug little grin on his face.  Tony hated him already. But to be fair, he would have hated him if the man had offered him a drink of finest French champagne, a Cuban cigar, and Rosalind Russell wearing only an American flag around her shoulders.  That image allowed Tony to smile foggily at the Kommandant and answer back, “Nice to meet you, sir.”

The Kommandant frowned.  Tony blearily wondered if he has something in his teeth.  Probably blood. 

“Sergeant, you have spent six weeks in S.S. company and they have assured me that you are completely cured of your desire to escape the Stalags.  I must admit myself skeptical with your record of attempted escapes—43 was it?”

“Forty-seven, sir.”

“Ah,” the Kommandant wrote a note in Tony’s file.  “I assure you, Sergeant, that you need not resume your activities hear in Stalag 3.  This camp has been designed for troublemakers like yourself.  I believe the idea was to put all our rotten eggs in one basket.   This camp is, I am assured, completely inescapable.”

Tony fought the urge to snort in derision.  Inescapable?  That sounded like a challenge to him. 

The Kommandant seemed to guess his thoughts. 

“Of course, nothing is truly inescapable, so we have devised a number of discouragement measures.  Escape attempts will be punished with nine days in the shoe, solitary.  You may not have noticed on your way in, but the shoe is on the other side of the camp.  It is the largest building on this compound, so no matter how many escapees we have; we need not lodge them together.  Furthermore, there will be repercussions for all the prisoners if an escape attempt should take place.  Rations will be reduced by ten percent for the entire camp.  This will continue for one week, and every additional member of the escape party will add another week to the count.  Those caught helping escapees in any way, whether it be answering back for them in roll call or helping them steal supplies will be punished as if they were the escapee.  Nine days in solitary no exceptions.”

The Kommandant looked Tony up and down again. 

“Do you understand this, Sergeant Stark?”

Tony nodded without looking up from the rug.

“Sergeant Stark, I do not tolerate any form of insubordination in my camp.”

“I understand, sir,” Tony said sarcastically. 

The German didn’t seem to hear it.  He nodded to the officers and they left the office, taking Tony with them. 

***

Bruce waited nervously in the courtyard for the new prisoner to emerge from Kommandant Kuntz’s office.  With him stood Captain Rogers and Colonel Fury.  They didn’t look pleased.  Bruce could sympathize.  He hated getting new prisoners straight from Gestapo custody.  They were never in very good shape and the prison medical staff was basically Bruce and whatever the prisoners could scrounge up.  Once in a while the Kommandant would see fit to send some supplies down from on high, and Bruce could sterilize a penknife if he had to operate, but it was never safe and it was never a good option.  He hoped the new arrival wasn’t in too bad shape.

The door of Kuntz’s office opened and Bruce felt both Steve and Fury straighten.  It was a point of pride to only show their best sides to their captors.  The only prisoners who relaxed around the guards were the ones trying to get something from them. 

Bruce watched as the S.S. officers escorted the new prisoner to the entrance of the prison.  He didn’t look so good.  He leaned heavily on the S.S. officers for support and the way he was blinking rapidly coupled with the blood on his head, Bruce was betting at least a concussion, plus whatever else the Gestapo welcoming committee had dished out. 

The S.S. officers opened the gate to the prison and pushed the new prisoner in without ceremony.  The man stumbled, and just like that, Rogers was up next to him, holding the man up before he could fall face-down in the dirt of the courtyard. 

“Are you alright?”  Rogers asked as Bruce and Fury approached. 

The man nodded, but seemed to think better of the decision because he pushed the heel of his hand into his temple.  Almost definitely a concussion, Bruce thought. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just had a bit of a brush-up with the Nazi party, is all.  And let me tell you, they really know how to party.”

Bruce knelt down to get a better look at Stark.  Rogers had caught him before he was to the ground, but Stark didn’t seem up to standing again, preferring to kneel on the ground and stare at spots in the dirt. 

“Do you think you can get to my Hut…?” He asked, and realized they still don’t know the man’s name or rank.  He was not wearing a uniform, just a pair of maybe-military issue trousers and a black undershirt.  His accent would suggest American, but Bruce wasn’t sure.

“Sorry, soldier, nobody takes me home on the first date.”

Rogers blushed because despite being surrounded by a thousand sex-starved soldiers, he still somehow had a virgin’s disposition.  Bruce just nodded to appease his patient. 

“I need to get a look at your head, and you can’t stay out here in the courtyard forever.  What’s your name, by the way?”

The man seemed to see the wisdom in that and looked to be working his way to standing up.

“I’m—“

“He’s Sergeant Anthony Stark,” Fury answered for him.  “Of the New York Starks, isn’t it?”

Sergeant Stark smiled unpleasantly, revealing a streak of blood on his teeth. 

“I like to think of myself as of the Naked Starks, but as you will,” Stark said as he levered himself to his feet.  “Lead on, intrepid.”

***

Loki was waiting in Hut 12 when they arrived.  Bruce was not surprised to see the tall man leaning in the doorway, but he was still a bit peeved.  He and his patient didn’t need an audience. 

“Mind shoving back, Lieutenant?” He puffed as he helped Steve haul Stark into the Hut.  Apparently the Sergeant had overestimated his own endurance because halfway across the yard he’d gone down like a sack of potatoes. 

Loki moved deliberately slowly, eying the bundle of soldier as he did.  Bruce manhandled Stark onto a table and dismissed Rogers.  The Med Bay had tight quarters and Bruce needed the room.  He just glared at Loki but the Lieutenant ignored him. 

“I heard the S.S. dropped him off,” Loki said as Bruce starts carefully stripping their new bunkmate.  Normally he’d just cut the clothing off, but getting replacements would take time and leverage Bruce couldn’t spend

Bruce grunted in answer to Loki’s unasked question.  Loki knew the S.S. had dropped the man off.  He’d paid off Clint months ago to alert him if the S.S. came within a mile of the camp.  Loki had a long and storied history with that organization.  It hadn’t been that long ago that it was him on Bruce’s table and Bruce remembered that the wood had been considerably redder after that occurrence.

Bruce opened Stark’s shirt to reveal a number of violently colored bruises and wounds on his abdomen, the worst being a large, circular burn in the center of his chest. 

Loki leant forward from his post at the door. 

“Damn,” he murmured. 

“Damn right.” Bruce muttered back.  “You got anything that could help with this?”

“Ten minutes,” Loki said as he turned and left. 

Bruce began to work with what he had.  The burn seemed to be the worst wound, probably the oldest and already infected, but Bruce was more worried about the head injury.  He closed the shutters and grabbed his flashlight. 

He checked Stark’s pupils with the flashlight.  They looked to be dilating normally, so the head injury wouldn’t be too much of an issue. 

He returned to the burn.  He didn’t have anything to treat it in his tiny med bag.  He wasn’t supposed to have the med bag at all, but he’d always been a doctor and something like being locked in jail wasn’t going to change something that fundamental to him.  But right now he felt the same helplessness he’d felt when he first came to Stalag III.  There was nothing he could do and it made him angry. 

Bruce took two deep breaths and let them out.  Refocus, he told himself.  Look after the other injuries. 

Stark looked like he’d been run over by a tractor.  The wounds were jagged and dirty, and some were beginning to get infected, their edges puffy and red.  He pulled out the half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol and a few swabs.  They weren’t sterile, but they were as close as he could get with just a kettle and some strips of old long-john. 

He carefully cleaned the wounds and bandaged a few of the worse ones.  Stark probably wouldn’t need stitches, thank god for small favors. 

Now there was just the burn. 

Loki came in, holding a knapsack.  He set the knapsack on the table beside Stark’s legs and opened the top. 

He pulled out a number of dirty socks and put them to one side.  Bruce just waited patiently.  He knew Loki’s methods of hiding contraband. 

Underneath the laundry Loki pulled out a number of supplies.  Two bottles of burn creams, a number of bandages still in their packages, and a hot water bottle, presumably filled with cold water from the taps. 

Bruce nodded to Loki and went to work, putting a dressing on the burn carefully and hoping that Stark wouldn’t wake. 

 

Bruce finished tying the bandage around Stark’s chest and looked up to see Loki still there.  This was not usual. 

Loki was an odd man.   He’d been captured when his brigade of British infantry-men had gotten lost on the way back to their unit.  That was the official story, but Bruce was pretty sure that Loki had been a British spy.  He certainly didn’t know why a common infantry-man would be tortured nearly to death by the S.S.  He was almost certain the only reason Loki was still alive was because his father was some sort of Scandiwegian royalty. 

When Loki had finally been able to move freely after his torture and imprisonment, the first thing he’d done was shave.  He then proceeded to cut his hair neatly, brush his uniform, shine his shoes and con the Kommandant into getting Bruce his Med Kit against army regulations.  He had even managed to get Bruce a tiny room designated for a Med Bay and a few rudimentary supplies like the flashlight and a stethoscope. 

Bruce had looked awestruck from the kit to Loki and back again.  Loki had shrugged as much as his injuries would allow and said, “For next time.”  Bruce believed it was the closest the Lieutenant could come to saying a sincere thank you. 

Since then Loki’s grifting skills had kept Bruce’s make-shift infirmary up and running.  He treated everyone he could and kept the boys from getting in trouble with the Kommandant.  After all, any doctor could deduce that rope burns on one prisoner and oxygen deficiencies in another might suggest tunneling. 

Loki was still standing in the doorway, and Bruce wasn’t sure what to do.  Bruce figured he had one of the closest relationships to Loki in the whole camp.  Everyone knew that Loki could get you anything for a price, but they were also understandably frightened of him.  Bruce had never been afraid of the Lieutenant and he believed Loki liked him for that.  Nevertheless, Bruce knew next to nothing about his grifter friend, and wasn’t sure how to ask if he was alright.

Loki didn’t give him the chance to figure it out either.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said before sweeping out of the Hut and towards the kitchens.  Bruce sighed.  Just another mystery to shroud their most mysterious prisoner.


	2. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets to know the camp and the camp gets to know him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on ranks of characters:  
> Some characters already have ranks and have retained them. Some I just gave them ranks that had an alliterative effect, and others I looked up likely ranks (like Bruce). I justify Clint and Tony's relatively low ranks by their insubordinate natures.

“This could be a good thing,” Fury said quietly.  “Stark’s a good engineer.  He could help with shoring up or ventilation or that damned pulley system.”

The small group was crowded into Rogers’s bunk room.  It was fifteen minutes until lights-out and the designated time for their leaders meeting.  The table was covered with a layout of the camp constructed from dominoes and chess pieces, two lines of white stones stretching out from the camp and towards the woods.

“I don’t know, Colonel.  He doesn’t seem like a team player from what I’ve heard.  Always escapes alone,” Rogers answered. 

“We trust Odinson, and he’s as slippery a wildcard as they come,” the woman pointed out.

“That’s because we know he’s got a grudge to level.  Stark’s an even wilder card,” Rogers argued.

“Stark might not help, but he won’t betray us if we tell him,” Coulson reasoned.  “If we tell him we lose nothing.”

“Unless he gets drunk and lets something slip,” the woman put in.  “He has the look of a drunkard to me.”

Colonel Fury nodded.  “We’ll have to take that risk.  It’d be worth it.  If Stark can be persuaded we might make our date.”

All four of them looked down at the lines of the tunnels, still not quite to the inner-most fence of the compound.  There was no choice.   

***

Tony woke with a pounding head and a terrible pain in his chest.  At first he was sure it was just another hangover, and tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll open your scabs if you move too much.”

Tony opened his eyes to squint around.  Ah, yes.  He’d been moved to another camp.  How many was this now?  He’d lost count after the fifth.

“I’ll have to go to roll call,” he rasped and grimaced at the sound of his voice.  The other man handed over a flask of water and Tony took a gulp.

“Kommandant Kuntz excused you after I made a report on your condition.”

“You’re a doctor?” Tony asked, confused.  He’d never heard of a Kommandant excusing anyone from roll call, no matter how bad off.

“Yes.  Technician Fifth Grade Bruce Banner,” Banner held out his hand and Tony managed to shake it weakly.  He looked around. 

“Am I on your bunk?” 

Banner chuckled.  “No, Kuntz gave me this room to take care of patients.  You’re in the sick bed.”

“How in the hell did you manage that?”

“Kuntz?  Oh, apparently he was easy to persuade.  Just had to convince him having me would save him a few marks.  He gives us a few supplies and the guys are happier having me than some German.”

Tony raised his eyebrows.

“I repeat: How in the hell did you manage that?”

Banner smiled as he pulled out his ragged stethoscope to start checking Tony’s vitals.  “To be honest I had nothing to do with it.  I fixed someone up when he came to camp and he got me this stuff.”

Tony nodded.  He knew people like that.  There was someone in every camp who could manage to steal or con or find just about anything you could possibly need.  Banner had obviously gotten on the good side of Stalag III’s.

“It doesn’t explain getting excused from roll call though,” Tony said casually. 

Banner just smiled that serene smile again.  Tony could see why the guys like him.  He had the bedside manner of a saint.  He seemed like the kind of guy who’d be jumping from fox-hole to fox-hole and keep bandaging wounds even as another mortar fell.

“There have been fifty-some odd escape attempts from this camp in the five months it has been active.  I am one of three men who have not been involved in any of those attempts.  Nor will I be in the future.  I figure I am better help here, stitching these men up than running around Europe like a fox from the hounds.  The Kommandant knows that, and he trusts that when I say a man isn’t ready for morning roll call, that man will make it to noon roll call.  I trust you won’t make a liar out of me, Sergeant.”

Tony nodded.  “Don’t worry, Doc.  I need a few weeks till I’m ready to start running.  And you can call me Tony.”

Banner nodded and helped Tony to his feet.  “Well,” he said. “Just because you miss roll doesn’t mean you have to miss breakfast.”

“Ugh, I don’t think my stomach can take it, Doc.  Not unless your magical scrounger somehow managed to get edible food here.”

Bruce laughed.  “I’m afraid he’s not quite that good.”

“Well, he’d have had to be a miracle worker, I suppose.”

***

Clint was sitting at his corner table, surveying the room.  Nothing strange so far, but Loki had warned him to look out for anything odd.  This new prisoner was really getting everyone into a tizzy, or at least that was what he thought.   Of course he knew who he was.  Everyone had by dinner time last night. 

Tony Stark was famous for three things.  He was the son of the wealthy entrepreneur Howard Stark, a damn-good inventor and engineer in his own right, and had escaped from various POW camps almost fifty times, each one more ridiculous sounding than the last.  Building a robot suit out of tin cans and rubbish bins?  Did the man have something against a good old fashioned tunnel?

The entire dining hall was on high alert.  Apparently, Doc Banner had confined Stark to the med bay and talked the old cunt into agreeing.  That just made the whole camp even more eager to see their newest addition.  Well, the whole camp excepting Loki and his little assistant.  It looked like the Lieutenant and PFC Parker were skipping the shindig in favor of stove-food, which was almost as bad as kitchen food anyway. 

Doc and the new man walked into the dining hall and the room fell silent for a few seconds.  The prisoners regarded their new addition with the attitude of a pack of stray dogs presented with a lone dog—unsure whether to adopt or fight the sole animal.  Stark barely glanced at the room.  Clint couldn’t decide if it was real blasé or bravado, but respected the need to use one or the other. 

When the Doc and Stark were through the chow line, Clint whistled loudly and waved the Doc over.  The other prisoners shot Clint affronted looks as Banner walked over.  Stark looked a bit offended, but followed the Doc to Clint’s table. 

Banner sat, but Stark remained standing, just resting his tray on the edge of the table. 

“I’m not a dog, Corporal.”

Clint gave Stark his best shit-eating grin.

“You sure?  You came soon enough.”*

Stark looked like he was unsure whether to laugh or punch Clint.  Clint shrugged.  He was used to evoking that reaction.

“Look,” he said.  “I figured you and the Doc both would prefer a quiet meal with me to an interrogation over at Fury’s table.”

Stark relaxed minutely.  “I suppose I can see the appeal,” he said as he finally sat.  “Are you saying you won’t be interrogating me?”

“Nah, never said that.  But I’ll try and keep it all above board and all that.  Fair enough?”

Stark gave him a small shrug.  “I guess so.”

***

Rogers and Fury let Stark finish his meal before walking over Corporal Barton’s table.  None of the three men made a move to salute the highest ranking officer among the POWs, Rogers noted with a bit of disappointment.  Barton always had a problem with authority, so there was no surprise there, and Doc was never one to stand on formality, but really some respect was surely due the Colonel.  Especially in front of a new prisoner.  It wasn’t setting a very good example.

Fury didn’t seem to notice, just swept into one of the vacant chairs across from Stark.  There was no room for Rogers at the table so he stood beside the table, arms crossed.  The dining room had quieted and most of the enlisted men had returned to the Huts.  Rogers made a quick sweep of the room with his eyes to be sure they were entirely out of earshot of any untrustworthies. 

He nodded to Fury who leaned his elbows on the table top and looked Stark in the eye.

“I’ll skip the preliminaries.  I know who you are, what you do, and that you’re not a German spy.  I want you’re engineering skills on my crew.”

Stark mimicked the colonel’s posture.  “Well you may know who I am, but I don’t know you and I don’t know your crew.”

“Nick Fury.  Colonel Nick Fury.”  He indicated Rogers without looking up.  “Captain Steve Rogers and Second Lieutenant Phil Coulson.  They’re my deputies.  I assume I don’t have to spell out what we do.”

“You assume correctly.”

“Good.  Here’s the situation, Stark.  We have a plan.  A damn good plan, too if I say so myself, but it’s got a damn bad weakness.”

“What’s that?”

“A deadline.  Kuntz told you when you arrived that this is the highest security Prisoner of War camp on German soil, did he?”

“Yeah, he mentioned it.”

“Well, that’s not strictly true, but it’s set to be in three months.  In precisely eighty-one days, a crew of engineers will be sinking fifty microphones into the dirt all around the camp.  Tunneling will be almost impossible after that.”

“So you want to make an escape before that.”

“We do indeed.”

“How do you know about the microphones?  I’m guessing the Kommandant doesn’t volunteer information like that.”

“We have our sources.”

“That’s not worryingly mysterious,” Stark said, deadpan.

“We’re trusting you with the tunnel, not our sources.  Now are you willing to help us make our deadline?”

Stark considered.  “I’ll look it over.  I can’t promise to help, but I’ll eyeball it and see if there’s something I can do to help.”

Rogers frowned.  He’d prefer a commitment now, but he supposed if Stark were a spy, he’d commit right away. 

Fury seemed to come to a similar conclusion. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow then.”

***

Tony left the dining hall with Barton and Banner.  He tried not to show it, but he was ready to drop off.  Banner had to see to the med bay, so Barton walked him to Hut 3, which was to be his permanent residence. 

“So you’re on Fury’s crew, huh?” He asked Clint as they walked slowly towards the Huts. 

“Me? No.  I just know everything that goes on in here anyway, so there’s no reason to try and hide it from me.  No, I got my own gig.”

“What about Banner?  I thought he was impartial.”

“Nobody’s really impartial.  Doc needs to keep up the appearance of it, though.  Keeps the Med Bay in bandages.”

“Ah.”

They walked a little further. 

“So you gonna take the job?”  Clint asked eagerly.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not on the crew?”

Clint laughed easily.  “I’m just rooting for them, you know?  They didn’t tell you the numbers, did they?  They’re trying to outfit two hundred and fifty, Stark. A fifth of the camp.  And not just out and running.  They’ve got a whole operation for getting the buggers to Switzerland.  Sure would be a spit in Hitler’s eye, don’t you think?”

Tony had to agree.  An operation like that would be a big fuck-you to the Nazi party.  And Tony could sign his name to it in red ink if he decided to help. 

“Why don’t you help if you like it so much?”  Tony said curiously.

“I do my best work hands-off.  Besides.  I got reasons to stay where I’m at.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clint said and looked at his watch.  “Speaking of, I’ll be late if I’m not off now.  I’ll see you later, Stark.  Think it over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, there are some real differences between this story and the book and movie. I wanted to make sure that people who read/watched those wouldn't be bored by this being a carbon copy. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.


	3. The Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Peter Parker appears. Loki is grumpy. Tony sees the tunnel.

Stark woke in his bunk in Hut 3 to the sounds of reveille. He wondered how he could have possibly slept through it the day before. When he tried to move he was reminded with a number of sharp pains on his chest and back. That could keep you asleep through almost anything, he supposed. 

“Need some help?” Said a very cheerful, very young voice above him. 

Tony looked up to see a tousle-headed kid hanging down from the top bunk to look into his. The kid looked like he couldn’t be more than twelve and was far too cheerful to live in a POW camp.

Tony responded with a grunt. It didn’t seem to deter the kid’s happiness. He swung down from the top bunk and gave Tony a hand up. 

“I’m PFC Peter Parker, by the way. I introduced myself last night, but I got the impression that you fell asleep halfway through.”

Tony could believe that. He’d returned nearly asleep on two legs and had no recollection of this bouncy, bright-eyed youngster.

“Nice to meet you. Tony Stark. Sergeant.”

“Yeah, I heard. You’re quite the celebrity. Did you really—“

“Listen kid, I gotta get to roll call and these old bones aren’t gonna drag themselves. Give me shoulder to lean on or whatever the old song says.”

“Oh, hey, sure,” Private First Class Parker tucked himself under Tony’s arm and human crutched him to roll call, gabbing all the way.

They must have been late because they were met by a burly guard on the way. 

The guard squared his shoulders and scowled, but when he saw it was Peter supporting Tony, his scowl melted away. 

“Peter,” he said, his tone closer to disappointed schoolmaster than angry prison guard. “You are late. You should be at roll call.”

“Sorry, Klaus,” Parker said angelically. “I had to give the Sergeant a hand. He could barely move this morning and I didn’t want Doctor Banner to get into trouble asking for more time for him.”

“Peter, this generosity will get you into trouble someday,” Guard Klaus scolded. 

“I know, Klaus, but my Aunt May always told me that you got to lend a hand when you see somebody in need.”

“She sounds most wise. I suppose I can overlook it this once.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. Don’t worry about me.”

“I insist, Peter. One must encourage charity, yes? It is a virtue most important in youth.” This time Klaus seemed to be addressing Tony, who managed to nod mutely. 

“Well danke very much, Klaus,” Parker said happily. “I’ll make sure to be encouraged.”

The German laughed and patted Peter on the back. Peter and Tony made it to roll call despite Tony not being able to look away from his pint-sized escort. What in the hell just happened?

***

Peter left roll call and went directly to Loki’s Hut. Apparently the Lieutenant wasn’t ready to face a dining hall that contained Tony Stark, so he found himself again eating stove food. 

Loki delicately picked out another bit of boiled potato from the pot. He held it up to his face and sniffed at it.

“Are you sure this is edible, Parker?”

“No,” Peter said cheerfully. “But it’s better than what they’ve got at the dining hall, that’s for sure.”

Loki scowled at the potato. 

“Oh don’t be a fuddy-duddy, boss. It’s as good as it gets.”

Loki transferred his glare from the potato to Parker. Luckily the younger man was mostly immune. Peter had lied on his enlistment forms to join the war early. He was only sixteen years old and had seen approximately forty-eight hours of combat before being captured by the enemy. He’d been one of the first prisoners transferred to Stalag III simply because he was always one for escaping. He was small and flexible enough to be a help in tunnel digging and creative enough to fashion an escape method out of almost anything. His most interesting attempt (and the one he was most proud of) featured swinging out of the camp using carefully braided ropes that he could wrap around the guard towers and fence posts. He might have even made it had the ropes not gotten caught in the razor wire of the first fence.

When Loki had come to Stalag III Peter had been helping Doc in the infirmary. He knew enough about first aid from his aunt to be able to change Loki’s dressings whenever they needed it. Peter had been tagging along with Loki ever since. He helped him acquire and store the various goods the prisoners wished to have and in exchange, Loki taught him the ways of the grifter. 

“What you call being a ‘fuddy-duddy’ I call taste, Parker.”

“You can’t afford taste here, boss.”

“Parker, I cannot afford not to have taste here. It is a characteristic you should cultivate if you wish to deprive our lovely jailers of their hard earned supplies.”

“Do we really have to go over this again—“

“We will go over it until it has sunk in. Appearances may matter little to you, but to people like the guards, and the Kommandant especially, they mean everything. Put in the effort to stay well groomed and put together and they will empathize with you. Put in the effort to speak well and with intelligence and they will respect you. Put in the effort to mind your manners and pretend deference to them and they will think they know you. And when they are sure that you are like them and that you, too, believe one can act civilized in a warzone, then, and only then do you tear out their hearts and devour them before their eyes.”

Peter mouthed the last few words of the speech along with Loki. He knew all of this. He’d been learning it for the last four months. 

“Well, boss, maybe that’s why you’ve got a problem with the potatoes. What you’re really craving is the hearts of your enemies.”

Loki smirked that smirk that still managed to give Peter the heeby jeebies. 

“I am indeed, Parker.”

***

Tony was beginning to think that Stalag III was nothing like any of the other prison camps he’d ever had the misfortune of being locked up in. First the odd arrangement with the Doc, then the crazy escape plans and then mysterious teeny boppers who could sweet talk Nazis out of punishing them. Definitely the oddest place he’d ever been. 

This was only magnified when Rogers collected him after breakfast to show him the operation. 

“We’re just giving you the rudimentary tour of the tunnels. At least until you agree to help,” Rogers said sternly. Tony got the impression Rogers didn’t really like him. It made Tony want to give him a reason to continue not liking him. 

Rogers led Tony to Hut 1. Tony had noticed it was the closest residence to the tree line, so it seemed like the perfect place to start a tunnel. 

By this time, most of the other prisoners were out in the courtyards or the rec hall. It was a sunny, blustery spring day and after a long winter the men were enjoying the weather. Roger nodded to a man at the door, presumably a lookout, and walked in. 

Tony followed the Captain to the stove. Or, to be precise, where the stove had been before they started digging. The stove was now dragged off to one side, leaving the concrete block it stood on, and the large hole in the center of it, open to the world. 

“You went right through the concrete?” Tony said, trying to keep the admiration out of his voice. That was a damn good maneuver. The concrete would be much more difficult to dig into, both in terms of manpower and in terms of getting caught, but that was also the reason it was unlikely to be found. Who would guess that the prisoners had burrowed through eight feet of solid concrete to get to the dirt underneath?

“Yep. Had a hell of a time keeping that quiet. Had to organize a choir to cover up the sounds of the pickax.”

“Where in hell’s name did you get a pickax?” Tony said a bit too loudly.

Rogers gave him another stern look and just said, “We have a guy.”

Tony wanted to ask if it was the same guy that got Doc his medical supplies, but Rogers was already off explaining the rest of the tunnel. At least the Captain didn’t expect Tony to climb down into it. 

“We’ve got the first twenty feet or so shored up quite well. Haven’t had a cave-in there for weeks. The problem is—“

“The road.”

“Yes, the road. Trucks going over the top of the tunnel will be likely to bring the entire thing down on our heads. Not to mention the ventilation problems.”

“Ventilation problems? You’ve gone through eight feet of concrete but you still have ventilation problems? Who do you have working on it?”

“Well, Justin Hammer’s been—“

“Justin Hammer! I should have known. He calls himself an engineer but I did better blueprints when I was in kindergarten. No wonder you’ve been having problems.”

“You know him?”

“Met him in Stalag XI. He nearly got twenty men killed with his support systems.”

“And you think you could do better than him?”

“I could do better in my sleep, Rogers.”

“Then maybe you should prove it.”

Tony wanted to laugh. It was such a textbook manipulation technique. Play to his pride. Feed his hubris. And damn it if it wasn’t working. Tony had never liked Hammer and now he had the chance to show him up and thumb his nose at the Nazis all at once. It was just too perfect. 

“I’d need supplies.”

“We’ve got the best scrounger in Germany.”

Tony scratched his head. “I want on the list.”

“What list?”

“The list list. I want on the list of guys going out. I want to know every part of the operation and I want to get out at the same time as the rest of you.”

Rogers scowled again. He probably expected Tony to do it for the love of country or whatever it was he stood for, but Tony was more mercenary than that.

“I’ll talk to Fury,” he said. “And if you don’t get to work soon, there might not be an escape.”

“Well, get me on the list and we’ll talk again.”

Rogers nodded and turned to lead Tony out of the Hut. Just before they stepped out into the courtyard, Tony put his hand on Roger’s arm to stop him. 

“Oh, and Rogers, I’ll need to see the other tunnel, too.”

“What—“

“Don’t try and play me for a fool, Rogers. You’re not getting two hundred and fifty men out through that dinky little thing. No you’ve got another one somewhere around here, and I’m going to have to see that one too if you want me to help.”  
Rogers looked peeved, but nodded stiffly. Tony stifled a laugh at the man and departed. He’d need to start planning if he was going to start soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!


	4. Reminiscences with Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki finally meet. Tony learns more about Rogers.

To be honest, Clint had been expecting to see Stark sooner. He had, in fact, bet on the time with Parker and lost five good American cigarettes to the punk. Parker held out his hand the moment Stark walked into the rec building. 

“You don’t even smoke, you little shit,” Clint growled as he slapped the Lucky Strikes into Parker’s hand. The kid just grinned and stuffed the cigs into his breast pocket.

Stark looked amused. “Betting on me already?”

“I thought you’d come to see us sooner,” Clint said, still glaring at his companion. Peter ignored him. 

“Us? You guys incorporated or something?”

“No, but we both know who you want to meet, so we figured we’d sit around together and wait for you to ask,” Peter answered. 

“You do want to meet the scrounger, right?” Clint added.

“Does everybody know this mysterious somebody but me?”

Peter shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? Point me to this nefarious personage.”

Parker looked a bit nervous. “Well...”

“What?” Tony asked. 

“I’m not sure he wants to meet you, so introducing you could get me into trouble.”

“So I’m just supposed to get supplies from some asshole I’ve never met?”

“Oh, no. We’re just going to have to engineer your meeting so it looks like an accident.”

“What? When are you going—“

“Right now!” Parker interrupted as a tall, slender man walked into the rec hall. 

***

At first, Peter didn’t think Loki even looked angry. In fact, if anything, he looked a bit scared. Which was ridiculous because Loki wasn’t scared of anything. But in the split second that they caught him unawares, Peter saw some undefinable emotion cross Loki’s face and leave in an instant. Then his face was completely devoid of any expression whatsoever.

He approached the table where Clint, Tony and Peter sat slowly, deliberately taking his time. 

“Parker, Barton,” he said, nodding politely. “And Sergeant Stark. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Again? 

***

Loki was going to kill Barton and Parker. It would be shame, considering they would be difficult to replace, but he weighed the satisfaction at seeing them dead, and found it worth the hassle of finding another sniper and apprentice. 

Of course, he had to focus on the present at the moment, but rest assured he was planning their imminent demises in the back of his head.

“Odinson,” Stark said, looking quite surprised to see him. “I didn’t know you had joined up.”

“Indeed.” Loki shot a look to his underlings that obviously said, "get out, you little bastards, the grown-ups need to talk," but both Barton and Parker ignored him.

“I haven’t seen you since university and…uh…”

“Indeed,” Loki repeated before glaring at the two hangers-on. “Parker, Barton, perhaps you could find yourselves more useful in the kitchens. I seem to recall you pulled KP for the next two weeks.”

Parker tried to ply him with those ridiculous wide eyes that had all the guards eating out of the palm of his hand, and Barton just smirked with the belief he could wiggle out of the punishment. Loki waved them away and made sure that they were halfway across the courtyard before turning to Stark.

There were several different ways he could play Stark. They had known of each other at university but had never been excessively friendly. Loki could maintain the fiction of their acquaintanceship or he could acknowledge the catastrophic effect that Stark could have on his current predicament. 

Well, Loki never had liked living with lies, even the ones he told himself.

After a quick glance around to make sure they were alone in the rec hall, Loki pounced on Stark, crowding him against a table with his advantageous height and looming over him threateningly. 

“Are you planning to ruin me, Stark?” he growled.

“What?”

“Let us be upfront with one another, yes? You know a few choice facts about my past that I have been rather careful not to divulge to my current comrades, or god forbid, the Germans. I would prefer that these faces remain as they were and I am prepared to protect them by any means necessary. Do we have an understanding?”

“What? I mean yes!” he yelped as Loki leaned his weight against Stark’s chest and the burn he knew to be still painful.

“Good,” Loki turned to leave, but Stark caught his elbow before he could. 

“Wait, Odinson, what are you talking about? Your…” He made a swan-diving gesture with his hand. 

“My suicide attempt? No, more the events preceding it.”

“Oh. Oh! But they—you’ve more than proved—“

“How do you know what I’ve proved or not proved?”

Tony looked a bit guilty. “I dated someone in London intelligence?”

Loki tried not to growl. This was a good sign, really. Tony may know his secrets, but he knew enough of them to trust Loki’s motives. Which meant he would be unlikely to betray the Lieutenant to Fury.

“Despite knowing or not knowing what you think you know, I would appreciate it if my past exploits remained in the past, do we understand each other?”

“Crystal.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He supposed that would be the best he could hope for. He turned to leave, but was again arrested by Stark. 

“But you are the scrounger for the camp, right?”

Loki gave his best disdainful glare. “Of course.”

“Can you get me a blow torch?”

“I can get anything. But I must warn you, as soon as it is in your hands my responsibility is void. It will be on your head if the guards find a blow torch in your bunk.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Lieutenant.”

“I do not. Need I remind you of the number of problems your violent death would solve?”

“I feel like it would get you an even bigger problem.”

“Oh really?”

“You don’t think they’d kick up a fight when they found my body?”

“Trust me, they wouldn’t find the body.”

“How can you be sure?”

“They didn’t find the others, did they?”

***

Tony left the Rec Hall with the same mixture of intimidation, confusion and grudging admiration he had always felt after an encounter with Odinson. This encounter was mostly steeped in confusion, and the confusion only increased when he woke the next morning to find a blowtorch skillfully hidden beneath his pillow. He almost gave himself a concussion trying to turn the blowtorch into more pillow, in fact.  
Parker looked on in amusement as he pulled on his uniform. 

“I think he likes you, Stark. I’ve never seen him get specialized equipment so fast. Except for Doc, of course.”

Tony wanted to ask more, but reveille sounded and they all had to report to roll call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.


	5. The Choirboy Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is Horace Greasley, Peter is his work wife, Tony takes a vow, and Tony and Peter play the question game.

Peter waited nervously outside Hut 1.  Clint hadn’t been at roll call.  This was not unusual.  Clint was an odd bird, and Peter knew that.  But he was always in by roll call.  That was the deal.

But Clint hadn’t been there and the krauts had noticed and now they were searching all the Huts.  Peter wasn’t worried about the tunnels—they were always locked up tight at roll call anyway. Peter was worried about Clint.  What in the world could have kept him?

Peter liked Clint.  Clint was street wise and funny and didn’t treat him like a kid.  He and Loki were the only people in the camp to really do that.  And though Loki taught him the grift and never talked down to him, the Lieutenant wasn’t the type of person you could just shoot the shit with.  Clint was.  Clint was the only one who knew about Aunt May and Mary Jane and Harry.  And Peter bet he was the only one in camp who knew about Barney and Natasha and all the people from Clint’s life, too.  So he was very worried when Clint wasn’t back.

“What’s cooking, Pickle?”  Came a sudden voice in Peter’s ear.

“Motherfucker!”  Peter swirled and nearly succeeded in punching Clint as he started in surprise.

“I’m pretty sure she’s not my mother, Parker, though the fucking…”

“Jesus Christ, you bastard!  I was about ready to fucking knock over your bunk and steal your cigs.  Where in hell were you?”

“You know where I was.”

“What I meant was, why weren’t you back in camp by roll call, and you know it.”

“You mind if we take this somewhere a bit more private, Pickle?  I’d rather this not get around camp.”

Peter scowled and dragged Clint into Loki’s Hut.  Maybe the Lieutenant could talk some sense into Clint.  Loki barely looked up from his book when they walked in. 

“Something amiss, Parker?”  He asked, still lounging casually on the bunk.

“Clint wasn’t at roll call.”

Loki looked up, significantly glancing at where Peter was still holding Clint’s elbow hostage. 

“I thought we went over stating the obvious in your very first lessons, Parker, I did hope I would not have to reiterate it.”

“Tell him why you weren’t there,” said Peter.

“He knows—“  Peter just gave Clint a glare and Clint changed his mind.  “I fell asleep at Natasha’s.”

Loki did that smirk he did when he didn’t actually move his mouth, but his eyes got all crinkly around the corners. 

“Ah.  And I suppose as Barton’s caretaker you find it necessary to inform me, his mother.”

“That’s—“

“Very well, if I must reiterate lessons, I suppose I might get them done all at once.  Corporal Barton, need I remind you that when you have a secret lady friend in the German village near the POW camp in which you are interred, it is generally helpful to the relationship to keep from being caught visiting her every night?  This would include waking up in time to return to camp before roll call.  Do you need me to obtain an alarm clock for you, Corporal?”

“No thanks, Loki, I’ll manage,” Clint said drily.

“You best would,” Loki replied.  “If anxiety at your absence causes Parker to fall apart, it will take me quite a while to break in another assistant.  And I would be most displeased at the inconvenience.”

“Understood, Lieutenant.”

Clint turned to leave, but then stopped and turned back.  “Almost forgot.  Here you are, Lieutenant,” he said, handing Loki a piece of folded paper. 

 “Ah.  Good.  I suggest you present yourself to the guards for your customary stay in the cooler.  I have to reiterate lessons on privacy and obviousness for Parker, here.  Thank you.”

Peter sighed.  Sometimes he just couldn’t win.

***

Tony was surprised to find that it was Coulson, rather than Rogers that picked him up after breakfast.  Tony wasn’t sure whether he was glad to get rid of goody-two-shoes, or worried because he didn’t know any more about Coulson than his name and his status as one of Fury’s seconds.

“Sergeant,” Coulson greeted with a blank face and a firm handshake. 

“Coulson.  You get me on the list?”

“Fury’s agreed to on the list, but you’ll have to settle for about half-way through Muninn.  We’re not bumping any of our big players down for someone who hasn’t been with us the whole way through.”

“Fair enough.  That mean you’re taking me to see the other tunnel?”

“As soon as we have a verbal contract between us.”

“What? Oh.  Sure.  Is there an official thing or do I just improvise?”

“There—“

“I, Tony Stark, do solemnly swear to uphold the sanctity of the tunnels, to keep the super secrets of the Choirboy Crew, to honor and obey the orders Fury gives that I agree with, and to stick it to Hitler by staging the biggest escape in POW history.  Cross my heart and hope to die, amen.”

Coulson’s unflappable face had an amused glint to it, Tony thought.  Which was certainly more than he’d ever been able to wheedle out of Captain flagpole-up-his-butt.

“Choirboy Crew?”

“Well, that’s the image you’re trying for, right?  Innocent as choirboys?”

“I suppose that will do.  Come with me.”

Coulson lead the way out of the dining hall and towards Hut 9. 

There were twenty Huts in the compound, each housing fifty men.  Hut 9 was one of the center-most Huts and thus furthest from the fence on either side.  This meant a variety of problems, first and foremost of which was that any tunnel from Hut 9 would have to run eighty feet longer than a tunnel from one of the outer Huts.  On top of that, the tunnel would be snaking underneath half the camp, so any trucks, jeeps or motorcycles going over the top could bring the tunnel crashing down around the diggers’ ears. 

On the other hand, there was the advantage that it was unlikely anyone searched Hut 9 with the tenacity that they searched Huts closer to the fences.  Tony wondered if Coulson had come up with the Hut designation. 

Coulson nodded to the casually leaning prisoner at the door and stepped into the Hut.  Unlike the tunnel in Hut three, this tunnel was hidden beneath the grate in the showers. 

Coulson lead the way, carefully opening the grate and prying up a piece of concrete at the bottom of the well with a cat’s-paw.  The tunnel descended twenty feet into the dirt and then presumably struck out towards the fence. 

“We’re going west,” Coulson said.  “Muninn lets out in the east, and we’ll want to confuse the krauts as much as possible.  We’re almost to no-man’s land, which isn’t close to half-way through, but we’ve got an easier time going.  You won’t have much to do here.  We’ve got a pretty good ventilation system that lets us close the lid on the tunnel when men are working, and a fair lighting system.  We’ve even got the beginnings of a track system to pull workers out of cave-ins.  We’re mostly worried about Muninn.”

“They’re called Muninn and…?”

“Huginn.  From Norse mythology.”

“I didn’t get the impression from Rogers that Muninn really needed that much help.  In fact, I got the impression he’d much prefer it if I fucked off and died.”

Coulson sighed.  It was quite the display of emotion from the mostly stoic man.

“Don’t play too hard on Rogers.  The man’s had it rough.”

“We’ve all had it rough.”

Coulson looked up.  Tony began to think maybe he hadn’t had it as rough as he thought.

“Let me tell you a little story, Stark.  Rogers disobeyed a direct order to retreat.  An orphanage was on fire.  Nuns running around screaming, kids dying.  He stayed to help, and a number of his men stayed with him.  The Nazis arrived, and Rogers and his men had to surrender.  Gave up their guns and everything.  Then the Germans started shooting into the kids.  Seemed like the sisters had hidden Jews in the orphanage’s walls.  The Germans had been smoking them out.  Rogers tried to stop it, broke out of his handcuffs and everything, and the Nazis turned their guns on the American GIs.  Rogers was wounded, but two of him men were killed, including his best friend.  A best friend, I might add, that acted quite a bit like you.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Coulson didn’t say anymore on the subject.  Just gave him a quick summary of Huginn’s needs and wants and showed him out to the courtyard. 

“Do you need to see the tunnel closer?”  Coulson asked, and Tony just managed to suppress a shudder. 

“No, thanks,” he said, turning to leave.  “I’ll manage for now.”

“Oh, and Stark?”  Coulson called before Tony could walk two steps.

“Yeah?”

“Rogers will be in the Rec Hall, teaching drawing if you’re interested in that.”

“Oh.  Thanks.”

***

Tony didn’t go to Rogers’ drawing class thing after all.  He had two very good reasons for that.  One—he wanted to go see Bruce first and Two—he didn’t want to go see Rogers.  Great reasons, in his mind.  He arrived in the Med Bay to see that Parker was there, looking very sorry for himself. 

“Hey Tony,” Parker said, visibly cheering up.  Tony wondered if there was anything that could truly keep the kid down. 

“Hey Pete,” Tony responded before turning his attention to Banner.  “Doc, I got a proposal for you.”

“Alright, Tony, but it’ll have to wait.  I have to talk the Kommandant into not killing Clint.”

“Oh, good luck with that,” Tony said as Banner grabbed his jacket and left.

“Is he really going to talk the Kommandant out of that?”

Peter shrugged.  “He’s done it in the past.  Did you really build a robot suit and try to escape in it?”

“Yes.  I would have gotten away with it too, but one of them got clever and hooked the fence up to a car battery.  That’s how I got this little testament to German ingenuity.”  Tony opened his shirt to show Peter the circular burn on his chest. 

“Neat,” Peter said, but his expression changed from one of awe to one of incredulity.  “You didn’t ground the suit?”

Tony tried to hide his annoyance.  It was a worry in the fabrication stage of the process, but he’d been so sure they’d be stupid enough to forget that he was basically a walking lightning rod.  So he’d ignored the issue and been fused inside a metal coffin for four hours while the krauts decided whether it was worth getting him out of the suit before shipping him to the next prison camp.  They’d decided it really wasn’t.  Trying to forget that particular incident, Tony grinned. 

“Ah, ah, ah.  It’s my turn to ask a question.”

Peter pouted but seemed to agree.

“Where was Clint?”

“Visiting his girlfriend in Hammelburg.  Did you really take out the engine of your last Kommandant’s staff car and use it to escape?”

“Sort of.  I made changes to the engine so it would still run, but take up much less space and then built a tiny compartment to hide in.  It would have worked except the car ran so well, the driver decided to look and see what had changed.  And there I was, curled up like a cat asleep in my tiny box.  The Kommandant wasn’t pleased.”

Peter laughed.  “Did you destroy the engine after?”

“Of course.  Couldn’t let the enemy use my machines.  Just un-American.  I had it rigged to explode once I got a hundred feet away.  Hence how I arrived in Gestapo custody.”

“Ah.” 

Tony decided to change the subject.  “How come the Kommandant listens to Banner?  It can’t all be Loki.”

Parker looked a bit uncomfortable.  “Well,” he said, “It could have something to do with the rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“That’s another question.”

“Auxiliary question.  What rumors?”

Parker leaned forward.  “Have you ever heard of Berserkers?”

Tony shook his head. 

“That’s what the Lieutenant calls it.  Soldiers who can lose their heads in battle and fight with the strength and tenacity of a wild animal, but without intellect.  They lose their minds and become killing machines.”

“The Doc, though?”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if it weren’t for what Loki says and the way the Kommandant treats Doc.  I mean he’s the calmest person I know.  But then the Kuntz will listen to him about Clint or you, and I have to wonder.”

“What does Loki say?”

“Don’t I get a question yet?”

“No.  What does he say?”

“He says that Doc was fighting in the Netherlands when his squad was ambushed.  They surrendered, but the Germans kept firing until it was just Doc left.  And of course he didn’t carry a gun, but he wasn’t going to risk the white flag a second time.  So, I don’t know, something in him snapped and he picked up his sergeant’s rifle and went after them like a bat out of hell and killed the whole damn platoon.  Even started hunting down more to fight.  He didn’t stop until our people bombed the city and a building came down on top of him.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, Haarlem will never be the same.  So now I figure the Kommandant doesn’t want a repeat performance, so he keeps Doc happy.  Plus, they play chess.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.  So what do you know about Loki?”

Tony looked at the younger man.  Peter was wearing a look of absolute innocence that Tony didn’t believe for one moment.  The kid had lured him into a false feeling of security with little easy questions so he could ask this. 

“If you want to know, you should ask him,” he said, suddenly serious.

Peter sighed.  “I would, but he doesn’t answer anything.  Can’t you tell me anything?”

Tony thought.  “I went to college with him.  We barely knew each other there.  We were in different disciplines and had different approaches to academic life.  As in, I liked to party with the fraternity boys, and Loki never took his head out of his books.  But we had a few classes together and were in the same dormitory, so we saw each other around.”

“What did he study?”

“Politics, I think.  Or Literature maybe.  Literature, I think, since his brother was always ribbing him for studying a girly subject.  Not that Literature is girly, but they come from a damned odd country.”

“His brother?  He doesn’t have a brother.”

Tony realized he’d probably given away more than he’d wanted to and promptly shut his mouth. 

“Nope.  No more, you little sneak.”

“Come on!  I told you all about Bruce!”

“What did you tell him all about?”  Bruce said mildly from the door.  Peter turned beet red and closed his mouth with a click. 

“Sorry, Doc.”  He said sheepishly.  Banner rolled his eyes and waved him out so he could speak to Tony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Stowing and Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and the Kommandant have a conversation, Clint gets time in the cooler, and Rogers and Stark come to an understanding

Clint stood at attention in the Kommandant’s office.  It was not the first time he’d been brought in for missing roll call, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last, but every time it happened the old cunt got more and more upset about it. 

“This is the third time this month, Corporal.  The third time you have missed roll call and offered me no better explanation than you ‘had a lie-in,’ is that right, Corporal?”

“Yes sir.”

Kuntz sat back in his chair.  “I am beginning to think that you need a better motivator, Corporal.  What do you think?”

“I think I’m plenty motivated Kommandant Cunt.”

“Kuntz,” the Kommandant corrected, narrowing his eyes.  

“Cuntz,” Clint repeated, trying to keep a straight face. 

There was a moment of silence.  Kommandant Kuntz looked like he was about to bring all the might of the German army down on Clint’s head, when he was interrupted by a soft tap on the door. 

“Come in.” He snapped. 

“Kommandant, the American doctor is here to see you,” Said Margrit, the Kommandant’s secretary.

“Show him in.”

“Kommandant,” Doctor Banner greeted as he saluted politely. 

“Doctor.  Please sit.  I was just about to pass judgment on Corporal Barton here, but I have a hunch you are not here to play your next move.”

Banner gave the Kommandant a small smile.  “Actually…”  He moved a bishop on the chess board in the corner. 

The Kommandant frowned at the board for a few seconds. 

“I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone coming out here.”  Clint gave the doctor a startled look and Banner rolled his eyes.  “It’s a figure of speech, Clint.”

Kuntz looked amused, the bastard.  “What is the second, bird, then Doctor?”

Bruce sighed.  “A deal.  Clint won’t miss any more roll calls for the rest of the month and you let him off with twenty-four hours in the shoe.”

The Kommandant looked unimpressed.  “All prisoners should be at roll call every day, without fail.  His end of the bargain is his regular duty and I see no reason to ignore his transgressions when my only reward will be him doing his duty.”

“Well, maybe I can sweeten the deal.  It must have occurred to you to wonder why Clint’s been missing so many of the roll calls.  And why he hasn’t told you why.”

This did have Kuntz interested.  He sat forward in his leather chair again.  “I am listening.”

“Well that’s because what has been keeping Clint away is a bit against regulations.”

Clint gave Banner a sharp look, but Banner continued on, unfazed.  “He’s been hosting a nightly poker game in his bunk.  Apparently it lasts nearly till six in the morning.  Thus his lateness.”

Kuntz looked gleeful.  “A poker game.  I see.  And I suppose my payment for the leniency would be…”

“The profits, yes,” Bruce said, pulling a bottle of brandy from his jacket. 

Kuntz eyed the goods.  “Is that all?” 

Bruce shrugged.  “All I could find in his bunk.  But the guys don’t have much to bet with, so it wouldn’t surprise me if that was it.  However, you might like it better if you looked closer at the label.”

Kuntz leaned forward to inspect the bottle.  He pulled a pair of glasses out of his desk drawer and looked again.  “Where did you get this?”  He asked sounding shocked and delighted.

Clint shrugged.  “Loki.”

The Kommandant’s face went dark.  “I should have known.”

Banner cleared his throat.  “Do we have a deal then?”

Kuntz nodded.  “I could be persuade thirty-six hours in the cooler, I suppose.”

Banner didn’t back down. 

“I said twenty-four.”

“That was before I knew the Odinson was involved.  Thirty-six is more than fair.”

“Thirty-six it is then,” Bruce said, handing over the bottle.  “Thank you for your lenience, Kommandant.”

Bruce left and the Kommandant and Clint were left alone.

“I will not permit any more gambling in this camp, Corporal.  Am I understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.  Off to the cooler.”

***

“No.” 

“But Doc…”

“No, Stark.  This is a Med Bay not a supplies cupboard.  Do you know the kind of trouble I’d get into with the Kommandant if someone found it?  They’d take away all of this, they’d lock me up in the cooler, and didn’t Peter just get done telling you how bad an idea that is?”

“Doc, I gotta do something with this blowtorch.”

“Store it in the hole.”

“The tunnels are too damp; it’d rust through before I could use it.”

“Tough shit, you’re not storing it here.  I walk a very fine line here, Stark.  You’re not tipping me over with your  blow torch.”

“I could take it,” said a voice from the corridor.  Bruce and Tony froze. 

Rogers walked through the door.  “I’ve got room in a cache.”

Banner held his hand up to his heart.  “Jesus Christ, Rogers, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Tony tried not to look like he’d learned the man’s history in the day since he last saw him. 

“A cache, huh?”  he asked.

“Yeah.  It’s where we keep our pens and things.  There should be room enough for a blowtorch.  Come on, it’s in the Rec Hall.  You can eyeball it and see.”

Rogers gave Doc a polite nod and walked out of the Med Bay.  Tony had no choice but to follow.  He caught up with Rogers when they were about a quarter of the way across the yard.  The man just had long legs.  Tony tried not to feel like a kid tagging after his older brother on the way to the stickball game. 

“I heard you were teaching a drawing class.  That what the cache is for?”

Rogers gave him an amused look.  Tony wasn’t used to seeing the man amused.  He wondered if Coulson had given Rogers a Stark’s-Condensed-Story-Reader like he had given Tony a Rogers-Digest. 

“Sort of.  The class is less of a class and more of a cover.”

“Cover?”

“Well you didn’t think we’d send the boys out with just well wishes and a pat on the back, did you?”

Rogers lead the way into the Rec Hall and headed to the furthest corner. 

“So you’re a forger.  What are you doing?  Identity cards?  Driver’s licenses?  Maybe some passports?”

Rogers pried open the wood of the wall to reveal a cavity behind it.  Tony got a good look at the cache of papers, pamphlets and wallets and swore. 

Rogers looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be disapproving or flattered. 

“Christ on crackers.”  They had everything.  Passports, licenses, Nazi party badges, library cards…it was a treasure trove of counterfeit identities. 

“Jesus, Rogers, how in the hell did you do this?”  He picked up one of the passports.  The typing must have been hand painted, since Tony doubted even Loki could have snuck a typewriter into the camp.  And the eagles that decorated the page above where the picture would be inserted was complete with miniscule feathers.  “This looks like it could have been printed.”

Rogers flushed with pride.  “I’ve got twenty men working on them.  They’re mostly amateur artists, but they’ve really come a long way.”

“How’d you get the stamp?”  Tony asked, pointing to the seal of approval at the top of the passport.  It in particular looked perfect. 

“Carved it out of an old boot heel.  The rubber was good enough to hold the ink.  Loki was able to get us the approximate color and we darkened it with a bit of boot black.”

Tony whistled.  If there was any doubt before that the Choirboys were running a professional operation, it was gone from his mind now. 

Tony noticed something missing from the passport and asked, “What are you going to do about the photographs?  You can’t exactly paint portraits of all the men.”

Rogers nodded.  “We’re working on it.  We got a few good looks at real IDs when Loki pickpocketed the guards, and Parker says we’ll need a 35 millimeter f2.8 with a focal plane shutter.  We’re still working on locating something that will be a good substitute.”

“Parker, huh?  I thought he was our junior scrounger.”

“Apparently he was working for the Bugle before the war.  He started out as our photographer, then bounced over to Bruce in the Med Bay, then Loki took a shine to him and we have hardly seen hide or hair of him since.”

Tony nodded and looked into the cache.  It looked like it could be big enough for the blowtorch if somebody organized the detritus of papers that currently cluttered up the space.  Rogers seemed to notice it too. 

“I’ll get somebody to make some space for you, and you can move it in by lights out.  Sound good?”

Tony nodded, his head still in his plans for the blowtorch. 

“Sergeant?”  Rogers asked, in the tone of someone who has been calling for several minutes now. Tony knows from experience. 

“Yeah, sorry?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to get working on Muninn.  And what exactly you were planning on using that torch for.  Or where you were going to use the torch.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m working on blueprints as we speak, Cap,” Tony said, tapping his temple.  “I’m thinking we need to work on ventilation first and then worry about shoring up the tunnel.  No use shoring it up if the diggers can’t breathe, am I right?  I’ll poke around the electrical system and see if there’s any way I can rig up something that draws power from there.  I saw Coulson’s hand pumped bellows system, and while it’s good, I don’t think you can spare the man power for that.”

Rogers nodded.  “We’re way behind schedule.  What about the supports?”

“I’m thinking the best answer would be to reinforce the wood supports—you are using wood supports right?”

“Yeah, old bed beams and unnecessary parts of the loft.  Placing them every two feet.”

“I think we could either reinforce those by narrowing the distance between the supports, which won’t help you if a truck should drive over the tunnel, or we can build a metal cage structure that can be assembled in the tunnel.”

“Where are you planning on getting the metal for these projects anyway?  You can’t exactly go up to the Kommandant and ask for some steel to melt down and make into tunnel supports.”

Tony smiled wickedly.  “I don’t have to.  Isn’t this the perfect situation to have a scrounger?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you like.


	7. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reads his letter, Tony needs supplies, Fury gets an unexpected visitor, and Loki gets drunk. 
> 
> Warning: Discussion of suicide.

Loki was lying in his bunk, rereading the note Clint had slipped him.  This was not good news.  Not at all. He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, pressing his folded hands to his mouth.  The new pose did nothing to change the situation, and Loki was about to see if walking around the camp would do him any good when someone knocked loudly on the door. 

Loki frowned and quickly stowed away the note in his jacket.  It couldn’t be Parker; he just barged into the room.  Clint was in the shoe, and the Doctor was always quiet in his knocks. 

He opened the door.  And promptly closed it again. 

“Oh come on!”  Stark said through the door. 

“I thought I made it clear last time we met that should you need something, you could contact Parker in lieu of me,” Loki said loudly enough to be heard through the wood.  He knew this was childish and undignified, but he did not wish to speak with Stark at all, and even less so when he was in a poor mood from the message he just received.  He couldn’t risk offending the Sergeant and having his past displayed all around camp for everyone to see. 

“Parker’s busy helping Doc put away the new supplies you got him.  I figured you’d prefer him to keep at it.”

“I would prefer it if we simply ignored each other for the remainder of the war, Stark, but as that seems to be an impossibility…” Loki opened the door and let the Sergeant into the tiny room he was allowed as the senior officer of his Hut. 

Stark walked in, looking around curiously.  Loki found himself standing in the corner by the desk, his hands crossed over his chest in a defensive posture.  He couldn’t seem to convince himself to drop it.  Stark started truly examining the contents of Loki’s room.  He wished he could just tell the Stark to piss off. 

“Huh.  I thought you’d have all sorts of trinkets and Persian rugs and paintings by Monet.  Since you can get anything.”

“I am not a magpie, Stark, I do not need anything more than what I have.”  What Loki had was not very much, but more than most of the other prisoners.  The room was undecorated except for a heavy curtain for the window, but Loki did have a number of notebooks, a few fountain pens and pencils and a veritable library of books in shelves next to the bed. 

Stark was now examining the books.  “Are _any_ of these in English?”

Loki shrugged.  “There might be one or two.”

Stark moved towards the desk, looking over the papers.  “What is this stuff?”  He said gesturing towards the words in the notebooks.  Loki didn’t even try to hide them; he knew they were incomprehensible to all but a few people in the world. 

“Notes,” he said simply.  They were in Runic, a very, very old language his father taught Loki and his brother when they were children.  There were only a few people alive who could read it at the beginning of the war and even less now. 

Stark looked up and saw Loki’s defensive posture.  He straightened. 

“I need some supplies.”

“Have you located someplace safe to store these supplies?”  Loki asked as he tidied his papers.

“I talked to Steve.  He says we can store most of it in the hole.”

“And what are these supplies that you need?”

“Mostly just steel for melting and molding.”

Loki looked up.  “Steel.”  He said flatly. 

“Yes.  Steel.”

Loki sighed. “You do realize, Stark, that you are asking for steel, most rationed material in Germany?”

“Well, yes.  But it’s rationed for use by the military.  And look where we are.  A military camp.”

Loki rubbed his eyes.  “I’ll see what I can do, Stark, but even I cannot get blood from a stone.”

“I have faith in you, princess.”

Loki scowled and ushered the Sergeant out.  Steel.  He’d add it to the list of impossible tasks to accomplish today. 

***

Fury stared blankly at the scrounger. 

“Out,” he said, making it almost a question.

“Out,” Odinson repeated firmly.  Fury blinked his good eye and rubbed his hand on the desk. 

“Why the change, Lieutenant?  You’ve never expressed an interest before.”

“Stir crazy, sir.”

Fury eyed the man before him.  Lieutenant Odinson stood at attention, his eyes firmly fixed to the wall behind Fury’s head.  The scrounger’s uniform was flawless, as always, and his appearance perfectly groomed.  Fury had never seen someone less stir crazy. 

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

Odinson relaxed his pose, but the rigidness didn’t leave his shoulders.  Nor did he look Fury in the eye.

“Look, Lieutenant, I realize you got your secrets, and I respect that.  You do good work and I get the feeling our interests are aligned.  But when you decide you suddenly gotta be on this bandwagon, I have to wonder if there’s something I ought to know.”

Odinson finally looked him in the eye.  It was only for a second, but Fury saw the man was uncomfortable and perhaps anxious, but not scared or angry like a spy would be.  It didn’t make him feel much better. 

Lieutenant Odinson bothered Fury.  He had always bothered Fury. 

Sure, Fury knew the basics.  Odinson was from some tiny European principality called Asgard.  In fact, he was royalty in Asgard, the second son of Odin, the absolute monarch of the country.  He’d been schooled in England and then America, and then joined the British army as an infantryman. 

Or so Odinson said.  Fury knew there was more to it than that.  He expected Odinson was some kind of spy, but there was no proof besides the fact that the Lieutenant didn’t seem altogether eager to leave Stalag III.  Until now.

Fury trusted the Lieutenant for two reasons:  One—someone very important had vouched for him, and Two—he had his own grudge to fill against the Gestapo.  And what a hell of a grudge it was.  Fury remembered the day Odinson had been brought to Stalag III.  Well, dragged was more accurate. 

Fury liked men he could quantify.  He liked when he knew what the men he worked with wanted and how to use it to make them bend how he chose.  With Odinson, Fury had never before known a thing the man valued enough to make him dance.  And now he was just handing over the means by which to manipulate him?  It couldn’t possibly be that easy.  

“It is a personal matter, Colonel.”

“Get a letter from your sweetheart?”

A private smile flitted its way across Odinson’s face.  “Something like that.”

Fury didn’t like it.  He didn’t like it one bit.  But if Odinson didn’t get on the list of escapees, he could halt the tunneling and no one would get out.  Fury really didn’t have a choice and both of them knew it. 

“Well I suppose that I can’t really deny you seeing how much you’ve done for our operation.  I have a condition.”

Odinson stiffened. “I will hear it.”

Fury couldn’t ask him for the truth.  Odinson would just lie and Fury had no way of confirming it.  He couldn’t ask for more supplies, Odinson already supplied them with everything they needed.   There, was, however one thing that only Odinson could do.

“I want Barton’s escape route.  I won’t stop those nightly moonlit rendezvous he has with his girl, but I want to know how he’s doing it.”

Odinson smoothed his face into a complete mask.  “I do not know this.”

Fury snorted.  “Right.”

“It is the truth.”

“Well, if you do find out how he’s getting in and out of the camp ever night, it’d be worth a ticket out of here.”

Odinson glared at him.  “I will think on it.”

“You do that.”

***

When Loki walked into the Med Bay and draped himself across the sickbed, Bruce was not surprised.  In fact, he’d been expecting the Lieutenant earlier.  Bruce took the bottle of vodka that was dangling from Loki’s hand and found a couple tin mugs to pour it into.  He pressed one of the mugs into Loki’s hand and sipped from the other.

“Want to talk about it?”

Loki glared at him.  The Lieutenant never liked to admit that sometimes he felt anything except for completely in control.  Bruce suspected it came from a lifetime of duty as a member of a royal family.  It wouldn’t do for the populace to know that one of their princes was—gasp—human. 

Or maybe Loki was naturally slow to trust. 

Bruce shrugged and continued sipping his vodka.  Loki would talk if he wanted to.  He always was able to procure some kind of alcohol and left a bottle of it for Bruce as some sort of odd payment for his time.  Sometimes, Loki would bring in whisky and sit with his back to the wall and his knees hugged to his chest and not speak at all.  Sometimes he would bring the moonshine Clint brewed in a home-made still and play long, drawn-out games of chess where Bruce was mostly sure Loki was taking it easy on him.  Other times he brought vodka and they sat and he would sometimes say things and Bruce would listen to them.

“I am,” Loki finally said, mostly into his mug, “Unsure how to proceed in light of recent discoveries.”

Bruce nodded like he understood and splashed some more alcohol into Loki’s cup.  It was always easier to talk feelings when Loki was at least tipsy, Bruce had found. 

Loki took a few long draws from the mug and stared off into the middle distance.  He was silent for so long that Bruce was sure that today must be a whisky day rather than a vodka day.  And then Loki spoke.

“Do you ever wonder,” Loki said, pausing again, this time long enough for Bruce to wonder whether that was the end of the question.  “What the world would be like if you had not been born?”

Bruce tried not to let his surprise show.  Bruce recalled the scars that he had found on Loki’s wrists and neck when he had first examined the Lieutenant.  Old scars and new, crisscrossing the pale skin like the twisted branches of an ash tree.  Bruce had, once or twice, managed to convince himself that an intelligent, privileged and confident man like Loki could not have possibly put those scars on his skin.  But on nights like tonight, there was no doubt in Bruce’s mind. 

“Do you ever wonder,” Loki  continued, “if the universe would be better off if you had never existed to begin with?”

Bruce took a deep breath.  He tried not to think of the twenty or so German families missing a brother or husband or father because of him.  He tried not to think about the citizens of Haarlem that he could have killed in his rampage.  The homes he destroyed with the twitch of a finger and the crack of a gun. 

He wished he could nip this train of thought in the bud.  He wished he could tell Loki that he never thought that perhaps it would be worth it if one Bruce Banner hadn’t lived and twenty other men did.  That he didn’t stay up at night weighing all his virtues and vices and finding himself so woefully inadequate he thought about eating a bullet as an insomnia cure. 

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, instead of all that.

Loki nodded, staring blankly at the wall.  “What keeps you?”  He said, his eyes shinier than they had been a moment ago. 

“I guess I have stuff to do,” he said after a moment.  “I have people who rely on me and that’s real, and now, but all that other stuff is just ifs.  If I weren’t born, if I hadn’t done what I did.  But I did, and the rest is just going on with it.” 

Loki looked at him oddly.  “You are speaking of those Germans in Haarlem.  But they were the enemy.  They were on the side of evil.”

Bruce reeled.  Surely Loki knew better than that.  Life was never that black and white.  Not in the real world.  Not here.  Bruce shook his head.  “It doesn’t work like that, Loki.  There isn’t some evil side and some good side like in fairy tales.  There are good people and evil people on both sides and the trick is just throwing in your lot with the one that’s more likely to follow the good people.”

Loki continued giving him that odd look then scrubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his woolen uniform jacket.  It was an oddly childish gesture from an otherwise dignified man, and it made Bruce wonder about the child Loki.  He couldn’t help but picture a wealthier version of himself, still bookish and quiet, but with the added problems of too much attention, annoyingly fancy clothing and very high expectations. 

“My brother is coming here.”  Loki said suddenly.  “My brother who is to be king is leaving our country in a time of war to find me here, where I am aiding a different nation, perhaps contrary to the good of our home.”

Bruce tried, again, not to let the shock show.  Loki never talked about anything so personal as family.  He didn’t bother asking how Loki knew his brother was coming.  Loki always knew everything. 

Bruce hadn’t even known Loki had a brother.  Well, logically there must be for Loki not to becoming king of his home country, but Bruce had never really given it much thought.  But Loki was of course the second prince, the not-heir, but surely he would have been expected to remain in his own country, especially during wartime.  And what in the world was he doing working for the Brits when he could be helping his own family?  Bruce felt like the more he learned about Loki, the less he really understood. 

“Is that a good thing?” He asked.  “Are you going to be glad to see him?”

Loki looked up at him, his eyes again glazed with a sheen of unshed tears.  “I will be gone.  I cannot see him.”

Loki took another drink. 

***

Peter collected Loki half an hour before lights out.  The young man surveyed the room, with its empty vodka bottle, the cluttered table with its shabby chess set and Loki lying bonelessly in the bunk.  He would have been have been amused if he weren’t so worried.  It wasn’t even the 18th and the Lieutenant was getting knock-out drunk and talking to the Doc.  Something was definitely wrong. 

“Did he at least feel better after the heart-to-heart?”  He asked as he helped clear up some of the things on the table.  He’d long ago learned not to bother asking _what_ had been said between the two men, but he could ask _how_ the conversation had affected them. 

“I think he needed it off his chest.  He’ll feel shitty in the morning, though.”

Peter nodded and hoisted the Lieutenant up to a standing position. 

“In what way will he feel shitty?”

Bruce gave that half-smile he sometimes gave Peter when he answered a tricky question right. 

“Hangover.  And then he’ll beat himself up for saying anything about anything.  You know how he is.”

Peter nodded.  He did.  Loki would see sharing as a sign of weakness.  Hence the need for alcohol. 

Peter said good night to the Doc and began the long process of hauling Loki back to bed.  Tomorrow was going to be a beauty. 


	8. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark gets a few visitors, Loki is hungover, Clint gives a pep-talk, and there is tea, glorious tea.

Tony was up to his elbows in papers and he really didn’t have time for this shit. 

“—and I’m not going to let you just waltz in and take my job, Stark!” 

Tony rolled his eyes and made another notation on the slowing growing number of blueprints that were now spread out all over Rogers’ desk.  Tony didn’t have a desk of his own, seeing as his Hut already had a senior officer (Fury) so he had commandeered the Captain’s.  After all, he spent most of his time in the Rec Hall with his forging crew, so he didn’t need the space. 

“Sure, Hammer,” Tony said through the compass he was holding in his teeth.  If he got a hold of enough metal he might be able to—

“Staff Sergeant!”  Hammer corrected in a shriek. 

Tony rubbed his ear and continued his work.  Maybe if he could ignore the little gnat, he’d go away. 

No such luck.

“Sergeant Stark, I will not tolerate insubordination,” Hammer said, trying to mimic the cold tones of the Kommandant. 

Tony couldn’t help it.  He laughed.  “Really Hammer?  What are you going to do to stop me?” 

Tony spat out the compass and looked Hammer full in the eye for the first time that morning.  Hammer sputtered and took a few steps back.  He always had been afraid of Tony. 

“I am your superior officer,” Hammer muttered as he retreated. 

“You’re not my superior anything.  You nearly got those boys killed in Stalag IV with your shoddy fucking vent-system.  They came out of that tunnel grey as ghosts.  And don’t get me started on that pulley system in Stalag I.”

Tony found that he was suddenly looming over a cornered Hammer.  He hadn’t actually thought that was possible, being a few inches shorter than the man.

He also remembered his father using the same damn tactic to scare him out of the workshop.  He stepped back and it wasn’t just Hammer who breathed more freely. 

Tony went back to his blueprints.  “Really, Hammer.  You should be thanking me.  By taking over this project, I’ll be keeping another two-hundred and fifty men off your casualty count.”

Hammer flushed a bright red, and looked like he’d like to say something, but at the last moment stopped himself.  His faced gained an angry, sneaky look and the man turned and swept out of the Hut without another word. 

“Well,” Tony said to himself.  “That went well.”

***

Loki awoke with a headache the size and ferocity of which would be rivaled by a thundering locomotive.  He groaned into the pillow.  _His_ pillow.  Hadn’t he been drinking with Bruce?  Who had—oh.  Parker.  Loki fought off a wave of guilt.  Nobody should have to see him like that.  He’d have to find something to ply Parker with.  Chocolate maybe.  Or maybe he could find a physics book in English.  The young man seemed to like those.

He sat up too suddenly and immediately regretted it.  His stomach heaved and he taste bile at the back of his throat.  He groaned again when he saw who was sitting at his bedside.    

“I thought you were in the cooler.  I was looking forward to the peace,” Loki mumbled, finding his mouth tasted like he’d spent the night licking someone’s hairy armpit.  He hadn’t been that far gone, had he?

Clint laughed.  Loki covered his ears at the sudden sound and flopped back into the bunk. 

“Watch it, Lieutenant, I’m not cleaning up the results of last night’s pity-party.  That’s more Tasha’s thing.”

Loki fought the urge to wrap his holey blankets around his head and go back to sleep.  Clint?  Parker had left him with Clint?  The boy must be punishing him for his indulgences last night. 

“Before you get to thinking anything too uncharitable about Petey, you should know he went to beg the guards for some aspirin.  If I knew you were going to go get smashed about that note, I woulda had Tash send some good stuff.”

Loki grunted into the bedding. 

“You burrowing to China in there?   Or just searching for your lost dignity?”

Loki pulled the blankets down enough to glare at the corporal.  Clint waggled his fingers at him. 

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Loki closed his eyes.  Maybe Clint would take the hint and go away.  He should have known better than to hope. 

“You know, Tasha told me what was in that note, you know.  I thought she was kidding when she said you were going to have a complete melt down over your brother coming to rescue you.  Because that would be ridiculous.  I thought you’d be thrilled.  If my brother decided to get his head out of his ass and visit me, I’d be fucking delighted.  I’d be skipping around the courtyard scattering rose petals. 

“But not you.  You, the smooth as silk Lieutenant we’ve all come to know and fear.  You’re not scared of the Kommandant or of Berserker Bruce or even Tasha which, as far as I’m concerned, is about as close to insane as anyone can come before actually being committed.  But you’re scared of your big brother coming to visit. 

“So I say to myself, Self, what in the world is that about?  And I answer—Loki’s fucked up something so completely that even he knows he’s fucked up.”

“Does this monologue have a point, Corporal?”  Loki said as flatly as he could manage.

“Getting there, Lieutenant.  I was just thinking that whatever you’ve done, whatever it was that was so bad that you think that your brother visiting is a fate worse than what this shithole’s already inflicted, it’s probably not all that bad to your brother.  ‘Cause I don’t know anybody who doesn’t think a prison camp’s enough punishment for just about anything short of kitten-drowning and puppy-kicking.  And I know you’re not that sort.  So if your brother’s coming to visit, it’s probably not to punish you more.”

Loki refused to make any move that could possibly be perceived as a tell.  He kept his face as stiff as a board and didn’t move.  Clint still seemed to see something.  He patted Loki on the chest and got up to leave. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.  Tasha’ll kill me if you end up dead on my watch.”

He was halfway to the door when Loki called his name.  “Barton.”

“Yes, Loki?”

“I wish I had never introduced you to Natasha.”

Clint snorted.  “I know.  She shares all your tells.  Get some sleep, Lieutenant.”

***

“How we going?”

Tony frowned at his work in annoyance.  It seemed like every time he got his concentration going, somebody just had to interrupt him.  He glared at the annoyance over his stacks of blueprints. 

“Fine,” Tony bit out.  “Just got a few more modifications before I’m ready to go into production, that is if Loki gets me my stuff in time.”

Rogers held up his hands in the universal posture for a surrender of arms.  “Sorry, I was just checking the progress.  Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“S’fine.  I’m working on it.  Should have something to show you fellas by tomorrow.”

“Really?  That soon?”  Rogers looked surprised and pleased. 

“Looking like it.  But like I said, Loki needs to get me my stuff if I want to start making any of this stuff.”

“But still, that’s pretty amazing,” Rogers said.

Tony shrugged awkwardly.  “I guess.”

“You don’t need a closer look at the tunnel, though?  You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”

Tony shrugged again, carefully redrawing a gear on one of his blueprints.  “I’m fine up here.  Wouldn’t want you to have to stop digging on my account.”

Rogers nodded slowly.  “Sure, Stark, no problem.”

Rogers turned to leave, but seemed to remember something and turned back to Tony. 

“Nearly forgot.  You have your fittings tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred in Hut 19.  Your number is MK42 and the password is ‘apple pie.’”

“Right.  Got it.  Apple pie.  Wait—what fittings?”

 Rogers rolled his eyes.  “For your civilian clothes.  You can’t go running around Europe in your American uniform and stealing clothes is just asking for trouble.  Selvig heads the wardrobe department.  He’ll get you something to wear after the escape.”

“Oh.  Well, I have a sort of image to uphold.  He’s not going to outfit me in French peasant garb is he?  I don’t think I can bear the humiliation.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rogers said with a smile.  “It would probably be _German_ peasant garb.  How do you feel about lederhosen?” 

Tony glared.  “I think I liked you more when you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

***

When Peter returned to Loki’s Hut, he was pleasantly surprised to find the boss up and about and only a little more scowly and ill-tempered than on any other morning.  He decided to test the waters by smiling cheerfully and wishing the Lieutenant a good morning.

Loki nodded at him balefully as he slowly tied his tie.  Not a good sign.  Loki was always fully dressed when someone came into his room, whether it was at three in the morning or six in the afternoon.  He was always entirely put together.  Peter didn’t like it. 

Peter held out the results of his scavenge with the guards.  He’d not only gotten a few tablets of aspirin, but also—

“Tea.  Parker, how on earth did you obtain tea?”

Peter grinned.  Loki was trying very hard not to look pleased, but Peter could see a smile—not a smirk or a grin, but a genuine smile—tugging at the Lieutenant’s mouth.

“Werner’s mother sent it to him, and he apparently hates the stuff, so he gave it to me for only a half-bar of chocolate.  He wouldn’t give me any sugar or milk, though, so—“

“I take it black.  Thank you very much, Parker.”

Peter grinned and Loki smiled that tiny smile at him as he sipped the tea. 

“Are you feeling any better, boss?”  Peter asked tentatively.  Loki knocked back a couple of aspirin and washed it down with another sip of tea.

“I will survive today.”

Peter tried to take that as reassurance.  It wasn’t working, so he plowed on ahead. 

“Well, I’ve pretty much cleared our schedule for today, I figured you’d want some recovery time.”

“That was a very kind thought, Parker, but a night of weakness should not be tolerated and allowed to grow into a day of weakness.  No, we must get to work.”

Peter frowned.  He always got the feeling that when he and Loki talked about weaknesses, they weren’t talking about the same thing. 

“So do you want me to tell Steve we’ll be there?”

“No, I think we can allow the Captain to wait a day or two.  There is, however, something we’ve been putting off.”

Peter groaned.  “I told you.  It’s impossible.”

Loki tsked and finished his tea.  “Nothing is impossible, Parker.  It is just incredibly difficult and requires a great deal of planning and resources.”

Peter decided that the Lieutenant was definitely a masochist.  Who wakes up hung over and decides to tackle the most difficult requisition they’ve ever gotten?  Only people who like punishing themselves.

“But—“

“No, Parker, we are going to do this.  It is past time that Mr. Stark received his steel.”

“Why not try and get a camera while we’re at it?  Make it a real challenge?”  Peter grumbled sarcastically.  He regretted it a moment later when Loki grinned a skull’s head grin and nodded. 

“A good point, Parker.  We should not keep you waiting, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.


	9. The Art of the Steel Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and his crew obtain steel for Tony.

Peter decided that Loki was definitely going crazy.  He wasn’t surprised—nobody could be that high-strung without somehow losing it—but this just took the cake.  They couldn’t get the amount of steel Stark needed.  They might get the camera if they stuck to the plan and gained enough lee-way with the guards, but even that wasn’t as high a chance as Peter would like. 

He tried explaining that to Loki.  Multiple times.  But Loki would make his eyes big—and dammit, Peter had taught him that trick—and say _do you not believe in me, Parker?_

And the trouble was, Peter did sort of believe in him.  Loki was, frankly, an impossibly good con man.  He could get anything off of anyone and make it seem like it was all their own idea.  He was the best.  But he was also usually very organized.  Systematic.  This was flying by the seat of their holey-pants and hoping they didn’t get killed in the meantime.  Peter didn’t like it a bit. 

He also knew better than to try to dissuade Loki from doing anything.  The man was more stubborn than a mule at the best of times, and any attempts to veer him off course just made him sink his heels in even deeper.  So Peter was stuck on clean-up duty:  inspect plans for logical fallacies and too-great risks, try to persuade Loki to correct for said fallacies and risks, fail, make contingency plans, and pray to God in heaven that both he and the Lieutenant made it out alive. 

***

_One Day Later:_

Tony watched as Loki and Peter, yawning still half-asleep, ambled into the dining hall for breakfast.  He waited until they had gone through the chow line before cornering the two of them and demanding, “Where is it?”

Loki yawned widely.  “What, exactly, Sergeant?”  He asked, rubbing his eye. 

“The damn steel, you—“

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember,” Loki said, still irritatingly calm.  The Lieutenant had come to Tony the day before and assured him that he would have his steel within twenty-four hours and he should clear out some hiding place for it.  Tony had managed to clear some room above the rafters of his Hut where he could store the stuff, but he was eager to get it into place. 

“So where is it?”  Tony asked.

“Oh, I am sure it will turn up eventually, Sergeant.  You simply must be patient.” 

Tony resisted the urge to throttle Loki until he turned blue.  He was only stopped by Parker looking out the window and quickly shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. 

“Looks like they made it, Lieutenant.” He mumbled around the toast. 

Tony looked out the window to see a truck heaped with wicker baskets lumbering into the camp.  He looked back at Peter and Loki.  The truck did indeed seem to be what they were eagerly awaiting. 

“Huh?” 

***

_One Day Earlier_

“Dummkopf.”  Natasha flicked Loki’s ear in irritation as she read a notebook full of the night’s plans. 

Peter looked over at Loki.  The Lieutenant didn’t so much as look up from the borscht he was eating with dark bread.  They were in Natasha’s tiny apartment above the café where she worked as a waitress on busy days.  The three of them—Loki, Peter and Clint—had snuck out of the camp only fifteen minutes after lights-out.  Clint was standing guard on the roof while Peter, Loki and Natasha went over the plan.

This was the first time Peter had ever met Natasha.  He understood from stories that she was some kind of assassin spy who was hanging out in tiny German villages as some sort of post in the Resistance.  He was finding her just as terrifying and beautiful as Clint and Loki had described.  She had sworn quietly, but vehemently in Russian when the three of them had turned up on her doorstep.  It hadn’t stopped her from ushering them in and setting soup and rye bread in front of them with the implicit order to eat. She reminded him of a more terrifying, but slightly less beautiful Mary Jane.

“Глупый, импульсивный идиот с ужасными волосами,” Natasha swore without much venom.  She didn’t seem to be too surprised, but seemed to need Loki to know just how idiotic she found his idea to move up the timetable.  Peter was glad, since he never seemed able to do so. “We had a plan, you идиот.”

 “You are lucky I plan ahead,” Natasha continued as she crossed out one part of Loki’s scheme.  Peter peeked at the book.  It was part of the plan that he had found riskiest, as well.  In fact, he had calculated at least a forty percent chance of them all being killed in that step and was supremely glad it was redacted. 

Loki nodded.  “You are forever cleaning up my messes, Natasha dear.” 

She made a face at the nickname but patted his cheek.  “It is always good to see you before you try to kill yourself again.”

Peter felt like there passed a sort of unspoken conversation just beneath those words, but he couldn’t for the life of him discern its meaning.

“So?” Loki asked after a moment.

“I suppose I can work with this.  I’ve already made the changes in the books.  They won’t miss them at all.”

“And Fraulein Hügel?” 

“Arranged things in the laundry.  The only issue is the actual theft.”

***

_One Day Later_

Stalag III was not an entirely self-sufficient community.  The camp relied on a number of support facilities in the nearby town of Hammelburg.  This included supplies like food, soap, and other necessities as well as services like laundry cleaning.

This, Tony knew somewhere in the back of his mind, but he had never really thought about it.  As the prisoners unloaded the baskets of clean linens from the trucks under the watchful eyes of the guards, Tony turned to stare at Loki and Peter. 

“No.  You couldn’t.”

Loki gave him a flat look.  A passing prisoner, loaded down with a tall wicker basket remarked to his friend, “These are a bit heavy, aren’t they?”

“How—“  Tony started.

“You should really let these soldiers know where they should deposit their baskets, shouldn’t you, Sergeant?”  Loki remarked casually. 

Tony just glared.  “You cannot tell me you stuffed sheet steel into laundry baskets and the laundresses didn’t notice,” he hissed.

“Of course not, Stark,” Loki said.  “Where would we get sheet steel?  There is a war on.”

Loki leaned forward to talk softly into Tony’s ear.  “No, we stuffed steel Nazi helmets into laundry baskets and expected the laundresses to ignore it.  That is all.”

Tony gaped like a fish at Loki's retreating back.

***

The heist was not nearly as difficult as Peter had been expecting.  Natasha kept the books at the armory factory in Hammelburg.  She had already left fifty helmets off the previous week’s quota.  The only issue was getting past the night watchmen and into the factory to grab fifty steel Nazi helmets and cart them across town in the middle of the night without getting caught and killed by the legion of guards drinking in the pubs. 

Nothing at all, really.

That said, the reality was surprisingly boring.  Clint stood on a nearby block of apartments with a bow and arrow that Natasha had somehow attained for him. He shot the night watchmen with a speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness that quite frankly frightened Peter. 

Natasha snuck in through a basement window to hand out the helmets to Peter who loaded them onto a handbarrow that Natasha had borrowed from the café owners.  The then carted them through alleyways and gardens to the laundry in five large trips. 

They were stopped a few times during the operation, but the would-be whistle blowers were halted by a few choice words (Loki), the promise of a date (Clint), and a steel-toed boot to the temple (Natasha).  Peter never could figure out how Natasha managed to lift her foot that high, either.

By the end of the night, Fraulein Hügel (another member of the resistance) was in the possession of fifty helmets to be taken to the camp in the morning with the washing. 

All in all, a very well-run operation.

***

“Peter,” Loki called from inside the Hut. 

Tony had already stowed the helmets away in the rafters of three different Huts and was working on making a forge in the kitchen.  If Peter had wondered if the whole nerve-wracking experience was worth it, the look on the engineer’s face when he realized he would be using Nazi helmets to aid an escape had convinced him. 

“What’s up, Lieutenant?  Got another impossible scheme you want to spring on me?  Do we need to run to England and grab the crown jewels and be back by sunrise?  Or how about the US?  Might be a bit of a swim, but I’m sure we can make it in eight hours.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Parker.  I simply wished to thank you with a token of my esteem.”

Loki held out a box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.  Peter took it suspiciously. 

“What is it?”

Loki just looked pointedly at the box and Peter obeyed the unspoken order to open and see for himself.

“You—How did you get this?  You were with me all night.”

Loki chuckled and tapped the side of his nose.  “It is the correct one, yes?”

“35 millimeter f2.8 with a focal plane shutter.  It’s perfect, boss.”                          

“I am glad.  I am sure Rogers will be glad he can finish his identification cards.”

Peter nodded absently as he cradled the camera in his hands.  It was nice to have one again.  It made him feel more like a person than he had in a long while. 

“Thanks, boss,” Peter said wholeheartedly.  Loki nodded awkwardly and turned away. 

“My pleasure, Parker.”

Peter was just going to press his luck and ask about the brother Stark had told him about when one of the guards—Heinrich by the sound of him—knocked on the door and called, “Odinson!  The Kommandant wishes to have words with you.”

Peter watched as Loki straightened his uniform and smoothed his hair back. 

“They don’t know anything, do they?”  He asked anxiously.

Loki smiled in what Peter was sure was supposed to be a reassuring manner and patted his shoulder. 

“Hide that camera, Private.  Anyone could walk in,” he said. 

Loki hated goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. Tailor, Soldier, Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets Selvig, and has conversations with Peter and Loki and loses his temper.
> 
> Warning: Discussion of Suicide

Tony was late to his appointment with Selvig, the Stalag’s tailor.  It really wasn’t his fault.  How was he supposed to know that Loki the magical asshat and Parker the kid wonder were going to manage to get him fifty steel Nazi helmets in under twenty-four hours.  He’d had to organize a way of stacking the damn things so they wouldn’t bow the rafters and give away their hiding place.  Jesus, he’d been expecting maybe a few sheets of metal, not enough helmets to outfit a squad of storm troopers. 

 Selvig didn’t seem to care about that, though.  Apparently Tony being fifteen minutes late for his scheduled appointment meant that not only had Selvig had to reorganize the rest of his day, but they were going to miss their deadline, the break out would be a failure, the Nazis would win the war and Mars would spin out of orbit and crash into earth in a great big fiery ball. 

Tony may not have been an expert in astrophysics, but he was pretty sure the last possibility was an exaggeration. 

“Arms,” Selvig barked.  Tony obediently raised his arms so the older man could measure from wrist to shoulder. 

Selvig scribbled some measurements into a notebook and while grumbling under his breath. 

“So how—“

“What?” Selvig interrupted abruptly.

“Uh, how do you make the clothes?”

Selvig seemed to warm up to that.  “Oh, it is quite ingenuous,” he said, standing upright again.  “We take the spare uniforms and convert them to civilian suits.  You seem to be more a double-breasted sort of man, Sergeant, are you not?”

Tony felt like he was getting whiplash from the change in attitude from Selvig.  “Uh, sure, Selvig, but I don’t have a spare uniform.  I, uh, sort of only have these clothes.”

Selvig looked him up and down.  “I thought these were your underclothes.  Are these even regulation uniform?”

Tony looked down at himself.  “The shirt might have been,” he said, plucking at it.  “I think I picked up the boots on my thirtieth escape, maybe.  And I’m pretty sure these pants are German issue.  They didn’t want to parade me around Hamburg naked from the waist-down.”

Selvig looked appalled.  “Sergeant, are you telling me those are the only clothes you own?”

Tony shrugged.  “I think I have a spare roll of socks.  Oh!  And gloves.  For the welding.”

Selvig looked pained.  “Alright, young man, I think we can work on that.” 

Tony felt a little guilty.  He hadn’t been especially careful with his attire.  Not when he was escaping, and certainly not now.  “You don’t have to—“

Selvig stopped him with one of those glares.  “I will not have my work interfered with by a man who goes about nearly naked, Sergeant.”

“Sorry, Selvig,” Tony said meekly.  Selvig reminded him _very_ much of his childhood butler.  Jarvis had been the only man in young Tony’s life who the boy would listen to reliably.  And they phrased their guilt-trips almost exactly the same.  It was eerie. 

Selvig nodded.  “We have some old blankets we can use to make great coats.  Double-breasted, Jim!  And I can see if we have anything left over from other prisoners.  Don’t worry, Sergeant, we aren’t letting anyone out of the camp without something decent to wear.  ‘German issue.’  Honestly!”

Selvig shook his head and continued to take measurements.  Tony got the impression Selvig had been a proper tailor before the war. The kind that dressed gentlemen in opera clothes and fitted tuxedos.  He had no idea how the man had been enlisted, he had to be at least fifty, but here he was, making great coats out of blankets using homemade needles and mismatching thread. 

“Uh, thanks, Selvig.” 

The older man patted him on the shoulder.  “No thanks needed.  I do not send my young men out unclothed.  It is a matter of some pride for me.  Come back in two weeks and we should have a civilian outfit ready.”

***

Peter met Tony on his way out of Selvig’s hut.  

“Hiya Sergeant!”  The young man said, cheerfully.  “You getting your prep work done?”

Tony shrugged.  “Guess so. Rogers sent me to Selvig.”

“Oh, then he’ll have started your identification.  Do you want to get your photo now, too?  That way you’ll be finished with it all.”

Tony thought about it.  It _would_ be nice to be able to work on his plans uninterrupted.

“Sure, kid.  Heard you got your camera.”

Peter grinned.  “Yeah, it’s a really good one, too.  I have no idea how Loki got his hands on it.”

The kid frowned.  It was a rare enough occurrence that Tony didn’t feel odd commenting on it. 

“What’s up?  The boss-man got you down.”

“No,” Peter said, frown still in place, “I’m just worried.”

Tony just nodded while Peter escorted him into Loki’s small room.  A sheet had been hung as a backdrop behind a chair and the window was half-shaded. 

Tony moved to sit in the chair, but Peter forestalled him. 

“Nope,” he said, pushing Tony towards a tiny mirror on the wall.  “You are not fit for photography, Sergeant.”

“Between you and Selvig, I’m going to get low self-esteem, Parker,” he said as he regarded himself in the mirror.  He ignored Peter’s unbelieving snort and rubbed his face.  He looked older.  A lot older than the two years he’d spent in prison camps could account for.  He had big bags under his eyes, his hair was almost to his shoulders and the lower half of his face was obscured by a five o’clock shadow that looked closer to twelve midnight. 

Parker came up behind him and handed him a safety razor and a pair of scissors.

“Come on, Stark, I haven’t got all day.”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like your boss, Pete.  It’s not a good change.”

Peter’s face in the mirror got that same worried look about it.  Tony turned. 

“No really, what is wrong.  What’s got you so worried?”

Parker looked like he really wasn’t sure he should say, but nodded.  “Well, you know the heist?”

“Yes…” said Tony.  “I’ve heard of it.”  He’d also tried to get the details of it out of Loki, to no effect. 

“Well, it went well.  Really well.  We got everything and nobody was killed, at least on our side, and we were back before anyone knew we were gone.”

Tony nodded.  He wasn’t seeing a downside so far. 

“And then this morning, Kuntz called Loki into his office.”

Tony nodded.  “So?  That happens all the time.  Not a big deal, right?”

“I thought so, too.  But they’ve been in there for an hour now.  Fury’s meetings don’t even take that long.  What if somebody saw us?  What if someone recognized Loki?”

Tony nodded slowly.  It was always a possibility.  But hardly likely. 

“If someone suspected Loki of being away from camp, surely he’d already be in the cooler, by now right?”

“Right,” Peter said slowly. 

“And if they decided the camp had anything to do with the missing helmets, they’d be searching, right?

“Right,” Peter said, sounding more confident. 

“So the Kommandant is talking about something else, surely?”

“Yeah,”  All the cheerfulness went out of Peter’s voice as considered that.

“What?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to know this, but I heard from Clint who heard from…well, his brother’s coming to the camp.  And I’m not sure what that means at all, but Loki didn’t take it well.”

“Yeah, he’s always—yeah.  So you think maybe they captured Thor and are trying to rub it in his face?”

Peter shrugged fretfully.  “Maybe?  I don’t know.  Anyway, it can’t be anything good.”

Tony nodded his agreement.  An hour with the Kommandant certainly was nothing good, but whether it was bad for Loki or for the rest of them remained to be seen.

***

The guards did not touch Loki as they escorted him to the Kommandant’s office.  It was something that sparked a bit of pride in Loki’s heart.  He may have come to the camp a pile of barely sentient bloody rags, but he could nevertheless instill fear in the minds of his captors.  The guards did not touch him, and the Kommandant avoided him with a thoroughness that Loki found quite endearing. 

However, the Kommandant’s sudden end to this avoidance was worrisome.  It signaled a change in their relationship that Loki could not help but assume was caused by last night’s heist. 

Loki nodded to Magrit, the Kommandant’s secretary as the guards motioned him inside the office.  Loki stood at parade rest, clasping one wrist in the other hand. 

“Herr Kommandant,” he greeted politely. 

“Prince Loki,” Kuntz answered shortly.  Though the Germans were indeed threatened by their Asgardian inmate--the Asgardians were rumored to be both immortal and somehow magical there seemed to be some pride beneath it that insisted upon them referring to him in the least respectful ways possible. Thus, Loki had never been referred to by anything other than his first name by the enemy.  Kuntz bringing his royalty into the mix could mean anything.  Things were beginning to look interesting.

Loki nodded in acceptance of the title.  He liked to believe that portion of his life was over, that he had left it at the gatekeeper’s feet on the rainbow bridge, but he knew better than to disavow his family when their name was the only thing preventing his immediate death for espionage. 

“I have been ordered to inform you of a number of changes in your status.”

Loki nodded in an effort to disguise the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

“Asgard has decided to waylay their neutrality.  They’ve joined the Third Reich in our fight.”

Loki raised an eyebrow.  “Is that so, sir?”  He asked mildly. 

The Kommandant looked annoyed.  “Indeed.  And I would never have it said that I did not offer aid to a potential ally.”  He paused and leaned forward.  “Because that’s what we can be, Prince Loki.  Allies. Our countries are in allegiance, surely our individuals can be as well.”

Loki smiled slowly.

***

Tony lounged comfortably in the wooden chair of Loki’s Hut.  He’d finished the photo shoot with Peter and the boy had gone off to rustle up more escapees for their own shots.  And Tony was sitting in the Lieutenant’s personal room and waiting for him when he could (and should) be working on his blueprints and implementation process. 

But Parker’s worrying had set him off.  If Thor really was coming to visit, bad things could be about to happen.  Tony didn’t have much to go on about Loki’s past—just what he heard in rumor, supported by his own experiences of the man—but he knew enough to worry about anything that could cause said past to repeat itself. 

So here he was, with his feet up on the bed and the back of the chair leaning precariously against the wall squinting at what appeared to be a Danish translation of Hamlet. 

The Lieutenant arrived only a few minutes after Parker left.  He saw Tony and rubbed his eyes. 

“I thought getting you the steel would buy me some peace and quiet.”

“’Fraid not, sweetums.”

Loki scowled.  Tony smiled sweetly.  Silence stretched for a few moments. 

“What are you doing here, Stark?” Loki asked in a sigh.  He looked tired all of a sudden. 

Tony sobered a bit. “Just making sure you got back before Parker had a heart attack.”

Loki huffed.  “The boy has separation anxiety.”

Tony shrugged.  “What can you do?  We live in a prisoner of war camp.”

Loki leaned against the door.  “What do you want, Stark?”

“The kid’s worried, you talked to the Kommandant for over an hour, and now I’m worried, too.”

“It was a personal matter.”

“Your hour-long chat with the warden of the prison where you live was a personal matter?”

“Yes, in that it only concerns my person.”

“Ah.  So it has no possible repercussions on any other human.”

“Not any more than could be expected.”

“Expected for what, Loki?  What are you planning to do?  Thor’s coming to visit, you’re talking to Fury and the Kommandant and getting drunk with Bruce.  What’s going on?  And what are you going to do about it?  Because let me tell you, if you do what you did last time, and jump off a fucking bridge, it won’t be just you you’re effecting.  It’ll be Peter and Clint and Bruce and the whole fucking camp.”

Tony had started out calm, but by the end of his speech he was yelling and Loki was looking trapped and angry and sad.   

“I recognize there would be issues—“

“Issues?  You know what, fuck you, Loki.  Issues.  Is that what you called it last time?  When your brother punched a hole in the dormitory wall when he took your things home to your mother?  When the newsreels all showed how she barely held it together at the funeral?  Were those issues?”

“Who are you to judge me on my choices, Stark?  You were an embarrassment to your family with your women and your alcohol.  At least I tried to relieve my f—them of their burden.  You could not even manage that,” Loki spit.

Tony punched him in the mouth.  Loki spat out a wad of blood.  And wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He took a step towards Tony, who stepped back, expecting a swing, but he only reached under the bed and recovered a bottle of whiskey. 

Tony watched him open it in silence.  Loki to a deep swallow and offered the bottle to Tony.  He took a swig of his own. 

“Feel better?” Tony asked. 

“No,” Loki said.  “Do you?”

“My hand hurts.”

“So does my mouth.”

Tony took another pull of the whiskey. 

“I’m worried, Loki.  And not just about the escape or the war or Peter.”

Loki nodded.  “Me as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think now might be a good time to drop in some of Loki's backstory, but it will probably be in another work that I'll make into a collection with this. So you can probably expect that on Thursday. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. The Persistance of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets back into metal work and the Kommandant ruins the day.

Tony was done with the blueprints and delighted to finally be working with hardware again.  He sighed happily as he started melting down the helmets in the kitchen.  Tony had managed to commandeer a little corner space in the camp kitchens to set up his workshop.  Coulson had offered to construct a few screening walls, but Tony had objected.  “Fumes,” he’d said sagely. 

Instead, he relied on three lookouts to alert him to any possible guard intrusions.  If anyone unauthorized came into the kitchen, then Tony had a box on wheels with one open side that he could slide over the workspace and hide all evidence.  He just had to remember to switch off the blowtorch so the smoke wouldn’t give it away.  But even then, he thought the smells and atmosphere of the kitchen would hide it. 

Tony watched the melting metal and hummed to himself.  Nothing was better than metalwork.  He hadn’t been able to work on metal since they’d taken the suit away.  He shut down that memory before it could get too terribly in-depth and continued to gaze at his molten steel. 

It had been difficult jury rigging the stove to heat at hot as he needed it to.  The stove was only supposed to go up to five hundred or so degrees Fahrenheit.  With the melting point of iron around 1500 degrees and steel somewhere around 1300 degrees, that just wasn’t going to cut it.  Luckily, Tony was a genius and didn’t mind tinkering with the inner workings of a stove if it meant some quality time with the metal. 

The stove worked by sending electricity through the heating coil, which converted electrical energy into heat.  Tony just had to up the level of electricity and—voila! Melted steel. 

There had been a few false starts, of course.  As evidenced by the one melted hob of the stove.  It had been a bit difficult modulating the heat of the coils.  The coils were made of nichrome, which melted at around 1400 degrees Fahrenheit and going by the state of the hob, he’d surpassed that by at least fifty degrees.  But that was just Tony’s first try, and thus didn’t count.  He’d gotten the end result fine eventually. 

The molds were even easier.  He’d even used up some of the dirt they were digging up.  Just add a binding agent (in this case it was a mix of different chemicals he’d flinched and borrowed from around camp) and he was ready to pour. 

He was concentrating so hard on keeping the metal flowing just right so there were no splashes, he didn’t notice there was someone else in his corner until he put the cast iron pan back on the stove. 

“You look like the witches in MacBeth,” Loki said as he leant against the kitchen wall.  His mouth was only slightly bruised, and the bags under his eyes looked faded, Tony was glad to see.

“If that’s not some kind of expensive scotch, I’m not interested.”

Loki smirked.  It looked painful.  “It is a play written by William Shakespeare.  You may have heard of him?”

“Can’t say that I have.  But that reminds me of something.  What did you study in college again?  I thought it was either lit—“

“It was politics,” Loki said, biting off the words at the end. 

Tony held up his hands.  “It was just a question.”

Loki took a deep breath.  “Excuse me.  That was uncalled for.  I studied politics.  My father wished for me to become an advisor or ambassador for Asgard.”

Tony nodded slowly, looking back at the pot of metal.  His father had had plans for him as well.  Luckily they’d been quite like his plans in that he would always be making machines, no matter what.  Of course it was everywhere else that their plans diverged.  Tony didn’t want to head the company; there were many much more qualified people in the world for that.  His father, however, insisted, and tried to force his hand.  Tony didn’t like anyone telling him what to do, so obviously he’d joined the army.  Where everyone told him what to do.  It had seemed to make sense at the time. 

Tony knew what it was like to have someone always molding his life regardless of his wishes.  He knew what it was like to have a father whose only attention came when he had done something wrong, or tried to express an opinion or build a machine with which his father didn’t agree.  He knew what it was like to feel angry and impotent and lost at the hands of his father.  He also knew how much he hated to talk about any of that.  How hard he pretended it didn’t actually exist. 

Of course it had never stopped him from prying.  “But you wanted to study literature, right?  I think I remember you in one of my lit classes.”

Loki rolled his eyes.  “How would you remember?” He asked.  “You never turned up for classes.”

Tony shrugged.  “You’re just noticeable, I guess.  Besides, I was studying engineering.  What the hell did I need literature classes for?”

Loki sighed.  “It was a general education requirement.”

Tony wondered for a second which question Loki was answering. He decided it didn’t matter. 

 “So,” he said, tilting the pan this way and that to mix up the steel.  “How are things?”

He didn’t have to clarify what he was referring to.  He and Loki had stayed in Loki’s tiny room late into the night the night before.  They had gotten quite drunk on Loki’s seemingly never-ending supply of illicit alcohol and Tony had ended up finally getting Loki to open up about a few things. 

One was that Loki had a plan (a crazy, convoluted, risky, impossible plan that, should it work, Tony would eat his non-existent hat in shock), the second was that Tony was a part of it (which worried him, because Loki refused to tell him exactly how), and the third was that Loki was an incredibly depressing drunk.  The guy was quiet and moody and at one point Tony was sure he was going to cry because Tony had reminded him that Peter was worried about his state of mind.

At first, Tony had had to use all of his considerable charm to get him to acknowledge him at all.  But then he’d figured out a system.  The idea was a basic one Tony had used in loads of annoying dinner parties to avoid annoying conversations with annoying guests. 

First, you fished around until you found something the person was passionate about.  In dinner parties it was usually boring things like golf or long-term stock investing.  Then, you mocked and belittled said passion. This you could do in a variety of ways.  If the person is intelligent or sober, you did it in a condescending, entitled way designed to make them march off in a huff.  If they were less intelligent or drunk, your remarks should be akin to: “You like golf?  Golf is stupid.  People who play golf are stupid.  What do you play with?  Putters?  Those are stupid.”  Then you sit back and watch the fireworks. 

With Loki, he’d found that a little-researched and mystical-sounding meditation technique called “seidr” was the passion to insult.  It had nearly gotten Tony’s punched in the stomach, but it did get Loki talking.  See, the modified plan was that once the (ideally, very) drunk person was done explaining in great detail why their passion was amazing and beautiful and perfect, they would have forgotten about being goaded into the conversation and willing to talk about different subjects you decided to set before them. 

Loki straightened against the wall and pulled that vacant mask-face.  “It is well,” he said reluctantly.  Tony tried not to smile.  Loki had been very, very difficult to get information out of.  Even after getting him talking about seidr, it had taken at least two more bottles of booze and a lot of distracting questions (and questionable distractions) to get the guy to loosen up.  But Tony was a pro at this, and he’d eventually gotten enough of a glimpse at the plan to know that it was so dangerous and outrageous and sexy he wanted to whisk it off to Atlantic City and elope with it. 

“I’m glad.  So I should keep doing what I am doing?”  He said, gesturing to the stove. 

Loki nodded.  “Munnin must get at least to the far side of the road by the twentieth.”

Tony nodded. “And where should Huginn be at?”

Loki looked at him impassively.  “I do not think Huginn should be a priority for you.”

Tony frowned at Loki’s back as the Lieutenant left the kitchens. He knew some of the plan, but not all of it, and something about that was worrying him more than he liked.

***

The next morning, a few hours after roll call and a few hours before lunch, the prisoners were ordered to reform ranks on the parade ground.  Clint stood in his line and watched as the Kommandant marched up and down in front of the men, his hands clasped together behind his back.  He looked smug.  Smugger than usual.  It was beginning to make Clint nervous. 

Clint glanced around at the assembled men.  At first, he didn’t see anyone missing.  Surprise gatherings and inspections weren’t unusual, and the tunnel crews generally were able to get out of the tunnel and into formation quick enough the krauts weren’t any the wiser.  On the other hand, sometimes the diggers were so dirty they had to stay in the tunnels, because absence or lateness was less incriminating than a prisoner covered with dirt. 

Clint’s eyes stopped on an empty space.  Coulson wasn’t in line. 

Coulson was a very dedicated manager of Huginn.  He’d probably be down in the hole, too filthy to risk coming out. 

Clint looked back up at the guards.  Two were opening the gates to let a large, empty truck into the camp.  The Kommandant stopped pacing and smiled nastily at the prisoners. 

“Will the residents of Hut nine please raise their hands?”  He shouted. 

The men did so.  The Kommandant addressed one of his guards. “Please gather ten of those men for me.”

Clint couldn’t help feeling a little chill trickle down his spine.  Hut nine was the hut where Huginn started.  It was also Coulson’s hut. 

A guard brought ten men forward and directed them into the truck.  Clint was definitely sweating now.  They couldn’t just take ten men out of the camp, could they?  Transfers to different camps happened, but they weren’t random like the selection of the men obviously had been.  What in the world was going on?

A guard got in the front of the truck and started the engine.  However, the truck drove not towards the gate and the outside world, but to the right, and further into the camp.  The prisoners watched as the truck drove towards the inside of the camp, between the rec-hall and hut eleven.  It rumbled down the little thoroughfare and turned around and returned the same way it came. 

The truck did this three more times.  Clint was still wondering what the Kommandant’s game was when there was a loud rumble and a crash.  The Kommandant grinned smugly and said, “Hmmm…Sounds like a sink hole.  That cannot be a good sign.”

Clint broke formation, stepping towards where the tunnel must have caved in.  He was stopped by a guard rudely pushing him back into line. 

“You boys haven’t been playing rabbit, have you?  Digging up carrots in the garden?  That would be most unfortunate,” The Kommandant’s voice got suddenly threatening.  “I have been very clear about my position on escape attempts.  I will not tolerate any form of escape.  I will find out.  And I will punish the perpetrators.”

The rest of the Kommandant’s speech faded as Clint turned to look over at Rogers, who was in turn, looking towards the truck with a stricken expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me readers for I have sinned:
> 
> Confession 1: Puck doesn't know anything about science. I have painfully researched this chapter (I googled things like 'when were electric stoves first invented' and 'what is the melting point of iron') but, alas, I do not have the talents of the scientifically inclined. If you see a mistake, please let me know. 
> 
> Confession 2: Puck's original plot has disappeared. I had this all mapped out. Literally. I have a map. That I will post a picture of. But I had this plotted and then Loki happened. But worry not, because I have a new plot that is better (read: more batsh*t insane) than the other one. 
> 
> Confession 3: Puck started a new job. This is very good, but it is primarily in the mornings rather than at night. I still hope to get chapters out every Thursday and Sunday, but they might happen later in the day than usual. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the collapse

The camp was quiet.  It was not a soothing quiet, but the tense, unhappy quiet that made the absence of noise a sound in and of itself.  The dining hall was hushed during meals, conversation stilted and awkward.  The prisoners sat in their huts, unwilling to go outside. 

The only loud noises were those the guards made.  Their hyena laughs as they went about their business, secure in the thought that all escape attempts had been thwarted. 

Bruce sat with his head between his knees, Loki’s hand a heavy weight on the back of his neck. 

“I should go and make sure everyone’s alright,” Bruce said to his boots. 

“There is nothing for you to do, Doctor.  Just keep breathing.”  Bruce was breathing, albeit raggedly.  He had been feeling shaky and nauseous, the first symptoms of him losing control, when Loki had towed him out of formation and into the Med-Bay.  The guards hadn’t stopped them.  There were enough rumors about Bruce that Loki hadn’t even needed to speak with them. 

“I am breathing, Loki.  I think I’ve got it down.”  Loki slowly drew his hand away from Bruce’s neck. 

Bruce stayed with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, though.  “What did you mean, that there was nothing for me to do?”

Bruce could feel Loki beside him.  He didn’t stiffen at the question, per se, but his posture seemed to become more careful and defensive.  “I meant that a doctor could not help anyone trapped in that tunnel.”

“You didn’t mean that.”

“Nevertheless, it is true.  No doctor could help, and your other…attributes would only worsen the situation.  You have worked diligently to attain the measure of respect you command in this camp; I would not have you lose all that for which you have worked.” 

Bruce knew it wasn’t the whole truth.  Loki never gave the whole truth if he could help it.  He hoarded secrets like precious gems.  But there was something bothering Bruce.  Loki had been watching him all day.  When the call came for the prisoners to gather, Loki had come with Bruce, and watched him throughout the gathering.  He hadn’t even looked towards hut nine when the sound of the collapse had rumbled through the camp. 

“You knew.”

Loki didn’t bother denying.  “I did.”

Bruce kept his face down, focusing on keeping his breath and heartbeat at a steady rate.  “Explain, Loki.  And it better be good, or I’ll be breaking my Hippocratic all over again.”

“You must—“

“Don’t tell me what I have to do, Loki!”  Bruce took a deep breath.  “Tell me what you were thinking.”

“You have, doubtless, discerned that my interment in this camp is voluntary.”

“Loki—I am trying to hold it together.  Get to the goddamn point.”

“I was given a mission, as a part of His Majesty’s Secret Service, in which this camp was a perfect cover.  I need to recover—something important.  Part of my plan is to gain the Kommandant’s unwavering trust—“

“So you gave away the tunnel?  They’re saying Coulson was in there, Loki!”

“I am aware,” Loki hissed.  The defensiveness in his shoulders had become closer to anger.  “I am not capable of predicting all possible outcomes of my plans.  I made the man aware of the danger.  I told the Kommandant to search at roll call, when there would be no danger to the diggers.  I cannot control everything, Doctor.”

Bruce felt the anger drain away from him as he watched Loki.  The other man was looking at his hands, flexing them and relaxing them over and over again, digging his nails into the creases of the palm.  Loki would never admit guilt or sadness or any other emotion, but he could display them as blatantly as possible and hope for understanding. 

Bruce sighed.  “I think,” he said finally, “you should bring the rest of us in on your plan.  Before anyone else gets hurt.”

***

Clint sat in Loki’s room, waiting for the Lieutenant to return from wherever he’d gotten off to.  He had a bottle of moonshine in one hand and the bow and arrow Natasha had found him in the other.

After the collapse was heard, the guards couldn’t keep the prisoners in formation.  Rogers had been the first to run towards Hut 9, bowling over anyone who got in his way until the guards took him down with a few sharp cracks to the back of the head from a nightstick.  They’d carried him, still bleeding, to the cooler. 

They wouldn’t dig for survivors.  They wouldn’t give the prisoners spades, either.  Fury had shouted at the Kommandant, demanded they try, even though the collapse would have crushed anyone in the tunnel.  Even though by that time, if Coulson hadn’t been crushed, he would have suffocated with the lack of air.  The Kommandant had shouted back, had threatened to throw Fury in the cooler with Rogers.  Fury had stalked away, tension in every edge of his body and defiance sparking in his one good eye.

The rest of the prisoners were rounded up and told to stay in formation while the guards searched the remaining buildings in the compound.  Clint knew he wasn’t the only prisoner holding his breath as the guards combed through the huts.  Most of the supplies were too well hidden to be found, but they’d gotten away with a few shovels and a pickax. 

Clint took another drag from the moonshine.  The Kommandant had been gleeful.  He’d ordered their rations reduced for three weeks, laughed as Rogers was dragged away from Hut 9, oversaw the guards filling what remained of the tunnel with concrete. 

Clint hated the Kommandant, but more than that, he hated the feeling of stupidity he’d experienced when he’d seen Loki taking Bruce out of the parade ground and into the Med-Bay. He should have known Loki was up to something.  Something besides the usual self-destructive, masochistic things he did every day.  Natasha told him she had everything under control, and he’d believed her.  If anyone could control the ball of chaos that was Loki, it was Natasha.  But sometimes, Clint had to wonder if even she was in over her head.   He wished he could run out and talk to her, ask her what in the hell was going on with Coulson and Loki and the Kommandant.  He knew he wouldn’t see her for at least a week.  He had to let the guards cool down.

Loki was the perfect combination of intelligent, sensitive, repressed, and fucked-up beyond belief.  It was what made him such a damn good con man.  But con men were also the type of person who craved absolute control over their lives, even as they spread chaos all around them.  And now, now Loki was losing control and his destruction was no longer only inward.  He was spiraling out of control, and the sixty-four thousand dollar question was whether he was going take the rest of the camp down with him. 

“Clint?”  Peter peeked in the door to Loki’s room.  He didn’t seem very surprised to see the bow and arrow in Clint’s hands.  “We’re meeting in Colonel Fury’s Hut.  There’s a status meeting.”

Clint nodded and stood.  He stowed his bow and arrows in a niche near the ceiling, but left one on the cot. 

Peter eyed the arrow, but said nothing.  Clint wondered if he’d guessed, as well.  He hoped not.  Pete was the only innocent left in this damn camp, and Clint wanted to keep it that way. 

“Let’s go, Petey,” he said, slinging his arm over Peter’s shoulders like Barney always did to him.  “Boss has some explaining to do.” 

Clint felt Peter nod mutely and wanted to punch Loki even more. 

***

Tony found himself in Fury’s spartan room the evening after the collapse.  Peter had told him of the meeting and Tony opened the door to the hut without knocking.  The Colonel was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, with Bruce standing over him, peering into the socket where Fury’s right eye had once been.  Loki was leaning in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest.

Bruce hummed as he shifted the flashlight.  “It’s still looking pretty healthy, Colonel.”

Fury nodded, pulling the leather eyepatch on over his head.

Fury looked over to Tony where he still stood, rooted to the floor.  “Stark.  Thanks for coming.”

“No problem, Colonel.  You lost two seconds today.”

Fury nodded.  “I can hope to get one back, though.  In what condition, I can only guess.”

Tony glanced over around at the other prisoners.  Bruce gave Loki a glance and the Lieutenant tightened his arms around him.  Fury continued.  “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about, before the others get here.  We have too many factions in this camp, and we need to start sharing between us.”  This statement was accompanied by another pointed look in Loki’s direction and, oddly, one in Bruce’s, as well.  “I need leadership, and with Rogers in the cooler, you’re the logical choice, Stark.”

Tony looked around the room, waiting for someone to shout out, _“No he’s not!  He could never live up to Coulson or Rogers!  He’s just a glorified electrician with a god complex and a drinking problem!”_   No one did, though.  In fact, Bruce, Fury, and even Loki were looking at him and it wasn’t even with disapproval. 

***

Peter was worried.  It seemed like he did nothing else these days.  First Coulson was…well, Peter wasn’t saying dead.  Even though no one could survive that, no one.  He wasn’t saying it.  Even when the men from Hut 9 were whispering it, were drinking Clint’s moonshine and throwing fists at each other because they couldn’t at the guards.  Even though the prisoners were already talking about Coulson’s ghost, trapped beneath the concrete and screaming for revenge. 

But Coulson couldn’t be dead.  Because Peter knew that the only person who could have tipped off the guards over Huginn, who could have told them exactly where to run their truck, who would take that unbelievable risk on the lives and hopes of the prisoners.  The only one who could do that was Loki.  And Peter didn’t want to believe that Loki could do that. 

Peter wasn’t innocent.  He’d seen combat, and as brief as it was, he knew that war was not a game, and that evil existed in the world and sometimes took human form.  Risks like the one that killed Coulson, those were evil.  They put ambitions above human life, and that, Aunt May had always said, was the road to evil. 

But Loki couldn’t be evil.  Loki was, well, Loki was Loki.  He was smart and cunning and so incredibly pained, but he wasn’t evil.  But if he had done this, if he had killed Coulson, Peter didn’t know what that meant. 

So Coulson wasn’t dead.  Loki had pulled some crazy scheme out of his hat, some miracle, and Coulson lived. 

Peter was still worried, though.  Not about Coulson, because he was fine, probably laughing over vodka and borscht with Natasha.  Not about Loki, because he wasn’t evil, he was good, and nothing anyone said would change that.  No, he was worried about Clint, who played poker with Coulson every Thursday night, and wouldn’t appreciate Coulson leaving without saying goodbye. He was worried about Steve, who couldn’t lose another soldier.  He was worried about Bruce, who couldn’t afford another episode.

Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes.  He wondered if this was what being his Aunt May was like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. The Plan

Tony watched as Loki paced restlessly.  Fury’s tiny room was full with Fury himself sitting on the only chair; Bruce, Peter and Tony on the cot; and Clint perched on the edge of the desk.  Loki was in the center of the room, and really didn’t have enough room to pace properly, but he still managed to get a few steps in before turning and repeating the motion.  Frankly, it was making Tony dizzy. 

“Lieutenant,” Fury said finally. “Get on with it.”

Loki nodded and stopped pacing.  He drew himself up into perfect attention. It was rather like watching a limp puppet being lifted back up by the puppeteer. 

“Yes, er—yes,” he said, sounding as unsure as Loki got.  “Some of this will be known to some of you,” Loki nodded to Clint, who nodded back, still tense, “while others have not been spoken since their inception.” 

Loki began to pace again, but stopped himself and turned to Fury.  “It has come to your attention that my being here is not entirely involuntary?”

Fury nodded.  “We figured there was something fishy about you having a foolproof escape route that you only used to return to camp,” he said, dryly.

“Yes, well, I am under orders.  After being captured, I was contacted by the British Secret Service.”

“Who were you working for prior to being captured?” Fury interrupted.

“The same.  But generally getting captured is seen as a sort of sabbatical.”

 Tony felt his mouth twitch.  “Not for you, though?”

“I am afraid not.  I was enlisted for a covert operation based here in Stalag III.”

“Here?”  Asked Peter.

“Why would they base an operation in a prison camp?”  Bruce said, getting to the point.

“It is the best place for it.  Who would suspect prisoners?  After all, if I could leave, surely I would go back to England, rather than returning to my hut like a meek child.  No, it is a perfect cover.”

“Alright,” said Tony.  “Then what exactly do the English expect you to do when you’ve got to line up for the Nazis every morning at six?”

“Earn the Kommandant’s trust, for one thing.”

The rest of the prisoners stilled.  This was it.  This is what they came to hear.  Coulson was dead and Loki to blame, and they needed to know that it wasn’t just because the Lieutenant was ambitious and risky.  It had to be more than that.  Clint already looked like he wanted to take Loki’s head off with a rusty corkscrew.

“So you killed Coulson to earn the Kommandant’s trust?”  Clint said, his eyes cold.

Loki winced.  “It was not malicious.  I told Coulson the danger, he knew I was going to tell the Kommandant the location of the tunnel.  We thought the Kommandant would search, find the tunnel, and fill it in.  We did not anticipate him collapsing the tunnel.  The sacrifice was meant to be Huginn, not Coulson.  We had two tunnels; I thought we could modify the other and the escape would go on as planned.  No one was supposed to get hurt.”

There was a silence as the prisoners thought it through.  “Why didn’t Coulson inform us of your plan?” Fury asked. 

Loki sighed.  “I was forced to tell him the entire story—“

“How did _that_ happen?” Tony asked.  “I had to get you falling down drunk to get half of it.”

Loki glared at him.  “Coulson is very stubborn.  I had been warned of the eventuality.”  Loki’s eyes flitted over to Clint as he said that.  “I told him our plan, it was confirmed by my handler, and he agreed to keep it to himself.”

Fury nodded slowly.  “The walls have ears.”

Loki nodded back.  “And the guards have eyes.  He agreed that it would be beneficial to the escape plan.  It had been too long since the guards had caught anyone escaping.  They were beginning to be suspicious.  He agreed that it would benefit everyone.”

“We only have your word on this, though,” Fury said, his one eye narrowed suspiciously.  “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Because I said so.”  Tony turned around to see a woman—a real life woman, with breasts and everything—walk into the room like it was nothing.  Like most of the men in the room hadn’t been locked away from women for the last two years or so. 

The woman kissed Clint—Tony noticed the Corporal relaxed slightly with her around—and went to stand next to Loki.  Loki also looked relieved to see her.  Odd.

“Widow,” Fury greeted. 

“Wait, wait, wait!  Are we not going to acknowledge that there is a woman amongst us?”

Loki looked amused.  “Absolutely.  I am sure you would like to surrender your seat to the lady?”

“Not necessary,” the woman said.  “I’ve got to get back soon. How much have you told them?”

“Coulson knew the Kommandant would search.”

“Then no backstory yet?”

“Not yet.”

The woman nodded.  Did Tony mention she was beautiful to boot.  And it wasn’t just Tony’s two years of abstinence talking.  She was gorgeous.  Red curls, curves you could get lost in, and a doll-like face that Tony could kiss for days.  Excepting her eyes, though.  They were deadly.  Tony didn’t mess with dames who had eyes like that. 

Well, he messed with them for different reasons. 

“Loki and I are tasked to retrieve a certain object.  To do so, we have to gain access to a Nazi facility in Hammelburg.  There is a vault there, and Kuntz has the key.  We’ve searched his quarters and office, but we kept getting interrupted.

“So we came up with a different plan.  We’d gain the Kommandant’s trust.”

Tony looked around the room.  Fury looked considering, Bruce looked skeptical, Peter was enrapt, and Clint looked grudgingly curious.  “You think he’ll give you access to his quarters just because you told about the tunnel?”

“If we play it right,” said Loki.  He sighed.  “There are other factors.  For one, they would not believe I would turn sides easily.  Not after my opinion has been made so concrete.”

Tony winced.  He’d forgotten Loki had a grudge to settle with the S.S. 

“You think giving away the tunnel was enough to convince him?” Clint asked.

“Not on its own.  It would be suspicious.  But that coupled with some misinformation—yes.”

“Misinformation?”  Fury asked.

“We planted the idea that Kuntz lie to Loki,” the woman said.  “That he tell him that Asgard has declared war on England and its allies and aligned itself with the Nazis.  That way, Loki is abandoning England for his family.  It’s a more believable motive.”

“Oh!”

The collected people turned to Peter, who hadn’t spoken for the entire meeting. 

“Sorry,” he said.  “I just got it.  That’s why it’s bad your brother is coming.  He’ll ruin Kuntz’ plans which will ruin your plans.”

“Exactly.”  Loki looked proud. 

“What is this object?  The one you want to retrieve,” Bruce asked softly. 

Loki and the woman looked at each other.  “Classified,” said Loki.

“I think we’re past that, Lieutenant,” Fury said.  Loki and the woman shared another look. 

“It is an…artifact,” Loki said haltingly.  “Of great power.  It has the capacity to do many things.”

“Meaning?” Asked Fury.

“It can be weaponized,” said the woman.

“To terrible effect,” added Loki.  The bleak look on his face, as if he was imagining the carnage, made Tony shiver.

“What is it exactly?” Tony asked, leaning forward.  “Some kind of machine?”

Bruce and Peter looked curious as well. 

“No,” said Loki.  “It is an energy source.  It can, potentially, produce unlimited energy.”

“How?” Tony asked.  “Energy doesn’t just come from nowhere.”

“I am not altogether certain,” Loki said.  “Our information states it emits a sort of energy that, if harnessed correctly, could outfit an entire army with unstoppable weapons.”

“Why is it here?” Asked Fury. “Hammelburg isn’t exactly the center of German’s defense network.”

“Obviously,” Loki said scornfully.

“The object isn’t stable in the slightest.  They’re not going to store it somewhere we’re likely to drop bombs on it.  Hammelburg only has a tiny munitions factory, not very strategically important,” said the woman. 

“And the key is in the camp, because nobody bombs their own POWs,” Tony says.  It makes a kind of sense. 

“Yes,” said the woman. 

“So the plan is to steal the key, steal this…thingy, and escape to Britain without being caught, the thingy being seen, or accidentally blowing anything up?” Tony asked. 

“Basically, yes.  But there are other considerations,” Loki replied. 

“The escape,” said Fury. 

“Yes.  We were planning on using it as a distraction and alibi.  The original plan was for me to stay in the camp and hand off the object to Natasha.  She would take it out of the country under the guise of a woman with a work permit.  The Nazis will be scouring the countryside for men in tattered uniforms.  They will not spare a glance for a lone woman with valid papers.”

“Not now?”  asked Peter.  Tony felt sorry for the kid.

“If I am still in the camp when Thor arrives—I cannot be in the camp when Thor arrives.”

 “So you want on the list,” Fury said.  Loki nodded.  “We’ll see.  Miss Romanova, it was good to see you again, but shouldn’t you be going?”

The woman—Nathalie?  Natasha?—nodded and left, giving Loki another one of those loaded looks.  She took Clint’s hand and led him out as well. 

Fury looked Loki up and down.  “One of my seconds died today, Lieutenant.”

Loki nodded.  He’d relaxed when Romanova was there, but now held himself with military precision. 

“You had better hope it was worth this ‘object’ of yours.  Otherwise, I swear to whatever god you pray to, I will hound you to the end of the earth.  Do you understand?”

Loki nodded stiffly. 

“Good.  Doctor, I’d like to talk to you about some things.  Stark, I’ll see you in the morning for a briefing on the tunnel.”

Loki, Tony, and Peter left, dismissed. 

Tony followed Peter and Loki back to Loki’s room.  The Lieutenant walked up to the cot and fell onto it, face first. 

“Ugh,” said Loki, pulling Clint’s arrow out of the bed linens. 

“What’s that?” Tony asked. 

“My punishment for keeping secrets,” Loki said, tossing it on the desk.  He looked over to Peter.  “Sit, Parker.  You have questions.” 

Peter sat on the chair.  Tony crossed the room to pick up a book.  He knew he should probably leave the two of them to their private discussion, but he really didn’t want to. 

 “How are you planning on getting the key?”

“I have not made definite plans yet.  I need to assess the Kommandant’s attitude before I know how to play him.”

 “Are you leaving in the escape then?”

“Yes.”

Peter nodded slowly. 

“Did you really not know Coulson was in the tunnel?”

“I knew there was a risk, but I did all that I could to reduce it.”

“If you had predicted his, would you have gone through with it?”

Tony buried his face in the book, wishing he’d just gone back to his hut. 

Loki sighed and sat up.  “Peter, it is not that simp—“

“Just tell me the truth, Loki.  Would you have?”

Loki rubbed his face.  “I might have.  I do not know.  I cannot speak on things that have not happened.  But no, I cannot tell you that I would have done the noble, right thing and kept quiet.  Not with the Tesseract on the line.”

Peter was doing a fair imitation of Loki’s completely blank face, but Tony could see some disappointment in it.  He pulled himself together and nodded. 

“How did you know about the obj—the Tesseract?”

Loki smiled, but it did not look happy.  “That is precisely the question of the day, Parker.”


	14. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has trust issues.

Clint sat next to Natasha on her tiny bed in her tiny apartment in Hammelburg.  He had his head on her shoulder, leaning on her probably too hard.  He didn’t much care though, he was still a bit angry at her for not warning him.  She seemed to understand, running her fingers through his hair and not speaking. 

“I played poker with him every Thursday.”

“I know.  You told me.”

“He has… an aunt, I think.  And a cellist somewhere out West that he wrote to.”

“Fury will send them letters.”

Clint sighed.  That wasn’t the point.  “I thought I was on your side, Natasha.  I thought it entitled me to a bit of forewarning.”

He could hear Natasha’s breathing.  It was as steady as ever.  “There was no time, Clint.  We didn’t think the Kommandant would take the bait so quickly, we didn’t think he would act on the information the very next day.  We barely had the time to ready Coulson, let alone tell anyone else.”

Clint nodded his head against her.  He knew that this could not have played out any differently, but he was still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the night. 

“So,” he said.  “Fury knows you, huh?”

He couldn’t see her smile, but he could feel the minuscule loosing of her muscles as she relaxed slightly. 

When he had first met Natasha, he had never met a spy before.  He was just a kid from the circus route who’d gotten tired of the popcorn and performances and joined the army. All he knew about espionage had come from pulp novels and Hitchcock movies.  When he thought of spies he thought of femme fatales and Lucie Mannheim.  What he had found was Natasha. 

Natasha did not often talk about her past.  Most of what Clint knew was what he’d read between the lines, what she left unsaid.  He did know that sometimes she could distance herself from the world, from people, from morals and the difference between right and wrong, until she barely felt human.  He knew that this was something she in turns hated and needed desperately.  He knew that she was fighting her way back into humanity, clawing tooth and nail at it until she could feel again.  He knew that when she could sense his emotions—not quite understand them, but feel them there, under the surface—she knew that there was something that she ought to do.  That other people could do naturally.  And she tried, as much as she could, but still didn’t quite understand that the majority of people could not divorce themselves so entirely from their emotions. 

Clint also knew that she was trying.  And he knew it.

 “The Colonel and I met before the war.  We worked together a few times.  He’s a slippery man.”

Clint nodded. 

“Is that a good thing?”

“It can be.  If he uses it for us.”

“He knows about the Tesseract and you don’t trust him.”  

Natasha patted his cheek.  “I don’t trust anyone.”

Clint nodded.  It was too much to hope that she might be able to get that back. That she be able to put away her training and leave herself vulnerable to…well, to anyone, really.  It didn’t have to be him.  Clint felt guilty for even hoping she could.  She’d fought so hard to get where she was and he still wanted more.  It was selfish. 

Natasha smiled, no doubt reading every thought.  She kissed him on the cheek.  “I think I am getting close, though.”

***

Tony reported to Fury’s room right after roll call.  He knocked on the door quietly.

“Come in, Stark,” the Colonel called. 

Fury was sitting in the hard wood chair at the desk.  On his desk was spread a number of maps and diagrams.  Tony disapproved of the openness of that.  Anyone could walk by and see those.  His own blueprints he wrote in pieces on very thin pieces of paper that he had to align perfectly to make up the whole. That way, if someone found just one, they couldn't construct the entire machine. 

Fury turned in the chair and gestured to the cot.  Tony sat down. 

“Alright, I’ve got a shit-storm, Stark, so you’d better be up to the challenge.”

“Sure, Colonel.  I love shooting the shit.”

Fury narrowed his eyes to a glare.  What was it with commanding officers, did they have their sense of humor amputated with their own valor medals?

“I’d appreciate some seriousness, Stark.  I’ve got Loki with his half-baked robbery scheme, a Kommandant high on power and two-hundred and fifty men looking to escape through one tunnel.  Did I forget anything?”

“The timeline,” Tony answered helpfully. 

“Oh yes, the timeline.  Lovely.  So I need you to stay on point.  I’m down two men here.”

“What have you got for me?”

“I want you working your ass off in Muninn.  I want us under the road by the fourteenth.  How is the metal coming?”

“I’ll have the parts ready to be assembled by Sunday.  We can hand them down to the diggers to fold out as they make progress.”

“Sounds good.  The rest of the operation should be self-sufficient.  Grab some of the Hut 9 boys to help with the digging.  They need something new to occupy their minds.”

Tony nodded.  Hut 9 had taken Coulson’s loss hard.  The whole camp had, of course, but the niners had known him more than most and blamed themselves for his death.  It would be good for them to have something to work towards. 

“Rogers also headed the look-out committee, but I’ve given that duty to Lieutenant Rhodes.  He was Rogers’ second in command for that, so he’ll do fine.”

Tony nodded again.  “Is that everything?  I’ll get back to my work.”

“One more thing,” Fury said.  “I want you to get the entire goddamn plan out of Odinson.  Backwards and forwards.  There’s still too much we don’t know.”

“You think he was lying?”

“Odinson’s as tricky as they come, Stark.  I’ll believe there’s a mysterious power-source, I’ll believe he’s trying to get it for the British, but I don’t for one minute believe that there’s not more there that we don’t know.  The Widow might vouch for him, but that only means that he’s got a legitimate mission, not that he’ll be any more likely to tell us anything.”

“Who is the Widow anyway?  A spy?”

“Yes,” Fury said simply.  “Now go.  Get out of my Hut.  I want that tunnel across the road by the fourteenth.”

Tony nodded and left. 

***

Bruce walked into the Med-Bay to find Peter lying on the cot in the Med-Bay.  Bruce raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.  Peter’s getting more like Loki every day.  It’s a good thing and a bad thing, Bruce thinks.  He’s getting better at conning the Nazis, using his natural charms and boyish good looks to his advantage.  It’s a useful skill, but other things are rubbing off as well.  Like coming to Bruce when there’s nobody else to talk to.

“You sick, Pete?”

Peter shook his head. 

“Then get off my goddamn sick-bed.  That’s for people who need it.”

Peter pouted and raised himself from the cot with wobbly arms.  “Who says I don’t need it?”

Bruce caught a whiff of liquor from the kid and sighed.  “Christ, Pete.  You’re too young for this.”

He tried to set him back on the bed, but Peter stubbornly sat up and slid himself to the floor. 

“Why do people keep saying that?” Peter asked.  “I’m not that young.  I’ve seen things.”

“I know, Pete,” he says gently.  Peter looked as if he’d been marinating in whisky for the last few hours.  Bruce idly wondered if he took some from Loki’s stash or if he got his own. 

“Bruce.  Bruce.  Tell me something, will ya?”

“Sure, Pete.”

“Is he a good person?”  Bruce didn’t have to ask who he meant. 

“What do you mean?”

Peter sighed as if Bruce was incredibly dimwitted.  “Is the Lieutenant a good person?  Because I don’t know any more, Bruce!  And if he isn’t a good person, that means I’m not supposed to like him or, you know, be his student or anything.  Right?”

“Do you like him, Peter?  Do you like being his student?”

“Well yeah.  He’s super smart and he’s got this crazy twisty brain.  And I want to know everything he does.”

“And that’s not enough?”

“No?  I don’t know.  How am I supposed to respect him if he’d—if he doesn’t have a moral compass?”

Bruce pauses.  Peter might have seen things during the war, but he was still a kid in many ways.  And he’d attached himself to Loki. Brilliant, broken Loki who could barely hold himself together, let alone a kid in crisis. 

“I don’t know,” Peter went on.  “When I signed up, things were so simple.  There were good guys and bad guys and we were fighting the bad guys and all the good guys were good.  But now, I just don’t know.”

Peter wiped his nose with his sleeve.  He suddenly looked much, much younger than he actually was. 

“What are you worried is going to happen if you keep learning from Loki?” Bruce asked quietly.  “Do you think he’s going to change you?”

“Isn’t that how it works?  You can judge a person by the company he keeps.  Because that’s what happens, people rub off on you.”

“So you’re worried about Loki’s moral ambiguity rubbing off on you?”

“Well, yeah,” Peter looked incredibly lost at that moment, utterly at sea.  Bruce smiled.

“I you can rest assured that won’t happen,” he said.  “Peter, you’re one of the most principled young men I’ve ever met.  And the fact that you’re worried it might happen, you’re willing to cut off someone you like very much just to prevent it from happening just proves to me that you won’t let it.”

Peter was shaking his head mutely, “That’s not enough.”

Bruce sighed and decided to try a different approach.  “Peter, you’re good.  You do the right thing, yes?”

Peter nodded, frowning.  “As much as I can.”

“Isn’t it possible, then, that it could go the other way?  That you could make Loki into a better man instead of him making you into a worse one?”

Peter frowned in thought.  “I don’t know.”

Bruce nodded.  “I suppose we’ll have to see.”

***

Bruce was not surprised when Loki poked his head into the Med-Bay later that night.  The Lieutenant didn’t greet him, just looked hurriedly around the room until his eyes fell on Peter, who was passed out on the sickbed.  Bruce wouldn’t say that Loki looked relieved to see the young man, but his face did visibly relax a bit. 

He straightened and stepped into the room.  “Doctor,” he greeted, his eyes still on Peter.

“Lieutenant,” Bruce replied, setting down the book he’d been reading. 

“He is—well?”

Bruce sighed.  “He’ll be fine, Loki.  But I think you should think over a few things.”

Loki nodded, standing straighter. 

“You have an older brother, right?” Loki nodded slowly, his mask-face in place.  “Then you probably went through that period where he could do no wrong in your eyes.  Where he was the best at everything and he was just perfect.”

Loki nodded stiffly. “I fail to see—“

“I’m sure at some point something pushed him off his pedestal, right? He did something that made him just as human as everyone else.”

“Yes.”

Bruce nodded.  “It’s part of growing up, learning that your idols make mistakes.  Knowing that everyone’s fallible and even the best people have moral failings. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Loki repeated.  He looked suddenly very sad.

“I hope you remember that.  And I hope you appreciate how much that young man cares for you.”

Loki nodded.  “I know, Doctor.  I do appreciate it. He is a remarkable young man.”

“Yes, he is.  And he’s chosen you for a mentor.  You’d better live up to it.”

Loki looked grim.  “I will try.” 

He went over to the sick bed and hoisted Peter over his shoulder.  For such a skinny man he was surprisingly strong. He didn’t twitch at the young man’s dead weight. 

“Doctor Banner,” Loki said.  “Thank you for talking with him.”

“It was no problem, Loki.  Just take care, okay?”

“Of course, Doctor. Have a good night.”

“You too, Loki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had plot and now we're back to the schloopy character stuff. I apologize. More plot next time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Idols and Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is loud, Peter is hungover, and Loki is sore. They have a conversation. Plot (in the form of people) makes a much-anticipated arrival.

Tony woke the next morning and knew something was wrong.  Every morning since he’d come to Stalag III, he’d been woken by Peter’s cheerful morning routine.  Either when the private swung down from his bunk above Tony, or as he whistled while he shaved, or when he finally gave up on being subtle and just thumped Tony awake and dragged him to roll call.  It was something Tony hadn’t really enjoyed, per se, but it did lend a bit of homey regularity to the day. 

But not that morning.  Tony was awoken by the absence of noise rather than anything else.  He tapped a passing soldier on the shoulder. 

“Where’s Parker?”

The soldier snorted.  “I heard he got sloshed and Odinson had to take him back to his room to dry out.”

Tony nodded and pulled on his other shirt.  He didn’t shave—he didn’t trust himself with sharp objects before he had some coffee in his system—but he did splash some water on his face and walk out of the hut and into the compound.  Roll call wouldn’t sound for another fifteen minutes or so, so Tony walked over to Hut 7 to check on Peter.  While he was at it, maybe he could try interrogating Loki about the particulars of his plan, like Fury said.  Drunken Loki was still a pretty closed-lipped son of a bitch; maybe sleepy Loki was a bit more forthcoming. 

Tony tapped on the door.  There was no answer.  He tapped again, a bit louder.  Still nothing.  He shrugged and opened the door and tried not to snort at the sight that greeted him. 

Peter was curled up on Loki’s bunk, swaddled in the holey blankets so that only his toes and a tuft of his hair were visible.  Loki, meanwhile, was asleep in the stiff wooden chair, his feet up on the desk, his head tipped back and his mouth open.  It looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position and Tony was sure the Lieutenant’s neck wouldn’t thank him for surrendering the bed to Peter. 

Tony cleared his throat loudly.  “Morning, m—ah!”

Tony ducked quickly, because suddenly Loki was awake and standing and there was a knife flying at his head. 

It stuck, still vibrating, in the doorframe above his head.  Loki blinked slowly and rubbed his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, as he retrieved the knife.  “I am not at my best in the morning.”

“If you were,” Peter said, sounding muffled and sorry for himself, “You would have hit him.  Which would be bad.”

“Yes, Peter,” Loki said, and maybe it was Tony’s imagination, but it sounded sincere, rather than sarcastic.

Tony ignored that—he would think about what it could mean later—and made his way over to the bunk, making sure to step as loudly as possible.  Peter groaned and curled further in on himself, pulling the blankets up so they completely covered his head.  Loki stopped cracking his neck and back long enough to narrow his eyes menacingly at Tony.  Tony continued to ignore him. 

“Petey, are you not feeling so good this morning?  Not your usual chipper self?”  Tony asked in his most annoying faux-sympathetic voice.

Peter made a pathetic little noise and flipped over so he was facing the wall.  “Why are you happy?  You’re never happy mornings.” He mumbled, barely coherent.  Tony laughed.  This was much more fun when he wasn’t the one who was hungover. 

“Perhaps Mr. Stark is a sadist,” Loki said conversationally.  He’d tucked away his knife and was engaged in dressing and shaving.  His movements were still stiff from his sleep on the chair, but he was beginning to look more like his usual put-together self. 

“I’m not a sadist!” Tony said, mock offended and still painfully loud.  “I just thought that Peter would appreciate the cheerful morning greeting he always gives me.  Is that sadism?”

“It is when the person in question has just gotten so dismally drunk they begged not to be left alone in their bunk,” said Loki as he scraped the razor over his throat.

Tony whistled.  “Damn Petey, you do it good and proper, don’t you?  I haven’t been that drunk since before Hitler sprouted himself a Chaplin-moustache and declared he was king of Germany and its surrounding states.”

Peter whined again but seemed to have given up on hiding from the world.  He sat up, still cocooned in blankets, and glared at Tony.  When that did nothing, he transferred his glare to Loki. 

“Why would you tell him that?  It just gives him more ammunition.”

“Behavior like that which you displayed last night should not be encouraged,” Loki said piously as he shaved.  “This is what I believe they call a natural consequence.  If you get that drunk, you will be confronted by loud, obnoxious nincompoops the next day.”

Tony started to protest, but Peter interrupted.  “You do it all the time.  You go to Bruce and sit and drink until you pass out and then Bruce makes sure you don’t drown in your own vomit.”

“Just because I do things that are unwise does not mean you are required to repeat them.  In fact, I urge you to take me at my word:  They are very unwise habits and do not make for promising futures.”

“But you still do it.  And you don’t care about your future.  You make all these elaborate plans, but then as soon as something upsets you, you throw them all away, and you don’t care if it hurts you or anybody around you. That’s the unwise part.”

Loki looked from Peter to Tony to Peter again.  He smiled tightly and strode over to where Tony was standing.  Loki grabbed Tony’s arm and escorted him to the door.  “Please remain outside for a few moments, Sergeant.  Parker and I need a private word.  I will answer your questions after breakfast, yes?”

Loki didn’t wait for Tony to answer; he just closed the door in Tony’s face.  Tony debated the merits of staying to eavesdrop, but figured it would probably earn him points in Loki’s book if he didn’t.  He sighed and wandered off towards the other huts. 

***

Loki turned towards Peter.  He knew the younger man was not happy with him for many well justified reasons.  Bruce had practically said as much.  Peter thought he was reckless, immoral.  He wanted to resist becoming like Loki, and yet here he was, repeating Loki’s vices as if they were his own. 

Loki leaned on the doorway, surveying his protégé.  Peter gazed back from the bunk. 

Peter looked up to Loki.  It was something Loki had tolerated since he’d taken the boy under his wing.  But was he really just tolerating the respect?  After a while it had seemed less like toleration and more like acceptance and later, pride.  He had never been the object of such undisguised esteem and…well, expectation. 

Peter had an image of Loki in his head, and that image was a heroic one.  But Loki wasn’t a hero.  He was barely a person.  But Peter didn’t see that.  Peter saw a person who was Good and Right and everything Loki had never felt he was. 

Loki had had someone like that.  Someone who became his idol and didn’t live up to his expectations.  It had hurt like falling;  it was natural, it was the way of the world, but it was painful as well.

He’d never really understood how difficult it could be on the other end of that relationship.  Holding someone’s perception of the universe in your hand.  It was heady and exhilarating and terrifying. 

Back then, when he still believed in idols and heroes, Loki had never had to be Good.  There were plenty of Good people around.  He’d needed to be smart and pragmatic.  He’d had to be the one making the hard decisions because no one else would sacrifice their honor to do so. 

But now, now Peter needed Loki to be Good.  Loki still had to be smart and pragmatic, to do his job and help his people, but Peter needed him to be Good as well.  Loki wasn’t sure he knew how.  He’d spent his past playing the role he had to play, and now he wasn’t sure he could change. 

“I am not a good man,” Loki said slowly.  Peter looked like he was going to interrupt, but Loki held up his hand to stop him.  “I am not.  I have never had the need for it.  There were always others who were willing and eager to temper me when I went too far.  But, I will try, Peter.  That is all I can promise you.”

Peter nodded and stood.  Before Loki knew what was happening, Peter had thrown off the blankets and wrapped Loki in a hug.  Loki stood there stiffly for a few moments before he relaxed his muscles, allowing himself to become a bit softer, a bit tenderer. 

He would try, of course.  Loki knew that he must change.  Because just as Peter had respected and admired him, Loki felt a similar pull of affection for the young man.  He wanted to protect him from all the many disillusionments so inherent to war, to the world in general.  So Loki would try his best to prove that broken men could become heroes. 

***

The checkpoint on the border between Denmark and Germany was quiet.  It was a warm spring day.  The morning light was bright and the dew was still drying on the grass. 

The two German officials were leaning against their striped boxes casually, shouting riddles to one another in an attempt to relieve the boredom. 

“What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?” Shouted Ulrich. 

“You asked that two days ago,” Oskar grumbled.  He supposed he should be happy; any post was better than the Eastern Front.  It did get grindingly dull, though. 

“What?” Ulrich called.  Ulrich was nearly sixty and hard of hearing. 

“A towel!” Oskar shouted.  “What stinks in life and smells good in death?”

Ulrich frowned in thought.  Then grinned.  “A pig!” He said happily.  “What is lighter than a feather, yet no man can hold it for longer than a minute?”

Oskar scratched his back against the guard post as he thought.  He was just going to give up and ask what it was when a voice behind him boomed, “Breath!”

Oskar scrambled to gather up his gun and point it at the five approaching figures.  Ulrich just smiled though, his rifle held loosely in his hand.  “Correct, young sir,” he said cheerfully. 

One of the men—the answerer, Oskar supposed—grinned and nodded.  “I lost a bet because of that riddle,” the man said with a smile.  “I have never forgotten it.”

The five travelers stopped at the border gate.  Oskar could now see that three of them—in addition to the riddle-answerer—were men and the other was a woman.  The answerer was obviously in charge.  The others seemed to naturally flank him.  He was blond and bearded and charismatic.  The other three men were dark, mustachioed and fat respectively.  And last, but not least, the woman.  She was gorgeous.  The type of girl you asked if they’d ever been in pictures.  But she also had an edge to her.  Like she didn’t take any nonsense.

They were all tall and well-muscled, and though they were dressed in ordinary travelling garb and moving on foot, Oskar thought they looked wealthy. 

“Have you any papers?” Ulrich asked with a smile.  The blond man who had spoken smiled. 

“No,” said the leader cheerfully.

Ulrich faltered.  “We can’t let you in without papers.”

“Oh,” said the blond leader, still infuriatingly sunny.  “We were not thinking of giving you a choice.”

The other travelers smiled unpleasantly and Oskar wondered if the boredom was really so bad after all. 

Fifteen minutes later, when he and Ulrich were tied firmly to one another, their rifles thrown into the underbrush at the side of the road, Oskar was sure he preferred boredom.  In any case, it was likely he’d be seeing the Eastern Front after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony asks about the artifact and some secrets are revealed

Tony whistled as he walked towards the Dining Hall.  He really wanted to get back to work on his support beams and maybe then he would have to meet the people he was going to boss around for the rest of the operation.  Tony was, quite frankly, not looking forward to that.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like bossing people around, it was just that he usually had someone like Pepper, who knew when he was being ridiculously brilliant, as opposed to just ridiculous.  He didn’t like having to explain that sometimes genius wasn’t rational. 

On the other hand, if he was in charge, then he could mold the tunnel into the epitome of tunneling perfection.  The “Stark” of tunnels, if you will.  Tony was already drafting his speech to Fury proposing a name change for Muninn when he found himself at Loki’s table. 

The Lieutenant was seated with Peter on his left and Clint across from him.  The Odinson crew, according to Fury.  Judging by Clint’s reaction to Coulson’s death, it was likely the splits in the group were not confined to Peter and Loki.  But Barton was still there, eating breakfast and glaring at Loki in turns. 

Tony took the seat next to Clint and sat his plate down with a clatter.  Peter flinched.  Tony tried not to grin.  He’d spent the time since roll call desperately trying to think how Pepper would handle this situation.  She was so much better at this shit.  _That’s it,_ he decided _Pepper is number one on my ship-to-me-express-no-stop-offs-in-Toledo-list.  Closely followed by good coffee and his favorite socket-wrench set, because it was hell-a hard to find a good 3/8” one in a POW camp._

He’d finally decided that, though his first instinct was to say that Pepper would use her feminine wiles to get information out of Loki, she would probably actually play him very professionally. Lay out the pros and cons of getting the information, make it seem like he was getting the better deal.  He wasn’t sure how to do that and had lost too much time imagining Pepper’s feminine wiles to really figure it out. 

Tony decided he would just take the up-front approach.  Twisty guy like Loki, he probably wouldn’t see that coming. 

“Hey,” Tony said, modulating his voice so it was less loud and obnoxious than it had been earlier.  “I heard you were keeping secrets and I want to know them.  So tell me your secrets.”

Clint snorted into his porridge and Peter lost the slightly pained look on his face to a tiny smile.  Loki looked taken by surprise, which Tony counted as a victory.

“An interesting approach, I will admit,” Loki said after a moment.  “But novel enough, I think for a straight answer.  So.  Secrets.”  Loki rubbed his hands together.  “Well, let us begin at the beginning.  When I was four years old I stole my brother’s favorite soft toy and adorned it with flowers and ribbons and blamed it on the maids,” he said, counting it off on his fingers.  “When I was five, I put ink in my least favorite tutor’s tea and told him it was an elixir against back pain.  When it dyed his teeth blue, I told him it was a rare side effect of the drug.  When I was five and a half, just before a large public engagement, I snuck into the palace kitchens and recarved an ice sculpture into a portrait of Snowy, the little dog from the Adventures of Tin Tin.”

Clint and Peter were sniggering into their porridge by the time Loki had finished.  Tony was having trouble not joining them.  The ridiculousness of the stories, coupled with Loki’s completely serious—and slightly mournful—attitude had a smile tugging at his lips. 

“How about we skip ahead to just the secrets in the last year or so,” Tony suggested. 

Loki looked a bit put out but nodded.  “Very well, Sergeant, what do you want to know?”

Tony paused.  He wasn’t exactly sure what Fury wanted.  It had been a rather vague “everything he isn’t telling us.”  So Tony decided he could ask about what had been, for him, the most interesting bit of information that had come out in Fury’s office. 

“What exactly is this power-source artifact?”  Tony asked. 

Loki frowned thoughtfully.  “I only have very dubious information regarding it.  Appearance-wise it is, according to our sources, a cube that glows with a flickering blue light.  It emits gamma radiation in low enough quantities that it is harmless to human beings, but does so steadily enough that, should the Nazis learn to power weapons from them, the war could be over in less than six months.”

Tony nodded slowly.  “So the cube itself isn’t harmful, it’s what the Nazis could do with it?”

“That is what our sources tell us.  And as for what the Nazis could do with it, they have already researched the effect on the biology of rodents, at least, and are researching various ways to concentrate the object’s power into a beam of radiation powerful enough to vaporize humans.”

Peter put his spoon down with a clatter, Clint looked a bit sick and Tony was toing the line between horrified and fascinated.  “So they’re focusing on guns?  Handheld weapons?”

“I am not sure.  The only weapons we have absolute proof of look vaguely similar to rifles, but in theory the object could be used for anything from hand grenades to bombs.  If the Nazis find a way of harnessing the radiation in an outside container, they could pair it with any kind of explosive as a detonator and, well, the result would be catastrophic.”

“So that cube is top priority.”

Loki nodded grimly. 

“Alright then,” Tony said, trying to get the image of vaporized cities out of his head.  “What about these sources you keep quoting?  Are they reliable?”

Loki waved a hand in front of him in a sign that said they were only sure in a wibbly-wobbly sense of the word.  “We are certain that the cube is in Hammelburg, and that Kuntz holds the key to its containment.  We are also reasonably certain that the cube is safe to handle, and that it is dangerous only if the Nazis can concentrate its power.  Other parts are less reliable.  The experimentation on biology is almost purely rumor, but it is in the realm of possibility.”

“What about the security on it?” 

“We know that the facility in Hammelburg has a number of sub-basements and it is reasonable to assume that the cube is somewhere there.  It would be the most secure location for the cube, and less likely to be affected by outside influences like radio waves.”

“What is this facility?”

“A Hitler Youth hall.”

Tony stared at him.  “They’re storing a dangerous and potentially explosive artifact under a kid’s camp?”

Loki nodded.  “It is the best place for it.  No one is going to willingly bomb a children’s facility.”

Peter nudged Loki’s side.  Loki looked down at the Private confusedly then sighed.  “Strategically.  It is the best place for it strategically.  I was not saying it was the right thing to do.”

Tony looked from one to the other for a few seconds, but decided to let it go.   “So you’re going after the artifact as soon as you get the key, which you need to con out of the Kommandant,” Tony summarized. 

“Yes, that is the idea.”

“Have you figured out exactly what you’re going to do to get the key?”

“Not yet, we are working on that.”

“You and your lady friend?” Tony said, eyes on Clint.  Barton just rolled his eyes and smiled. 

“Not his lady friend.  But yes, she’s working with us on this,” the corporal said, taking another bite of his—by now—very cold porridge. 

“And how does she figure into this?”

Clint and Loki exchanged a look.  Clint answered.  “She’s Loki’s handler and my girlfriend.”

“Okay…” Tony said slowly.  “But what is she doing here?”

Loki answered this time.  “There are some tasks I am not capable of undergoing while interred here.  She is responsible for completing those tasks as well as communicating with London, and maintaining a cover that will allow us to leave with the artifact.”

Tony quickly went back to a question that was bugging him.  “I asked this before and you didn’t answer me.  How did you know about the artifact?”

Loki’s expression was guarded.  “It was provided by various sources and confirmed by Natasha and myself.”

“Is that it?”  Tony asked.

“Yes.”

“Somehow I think that you’re hiding something in that vagueness.  And just when we were getting along so well.”

Loki scowled while Clint and Peter seemed to find the middle distance incredibly interesting.

“There are limits to what I am able to tell you,” the Lieutenant said stiffly.

“Well, I’m not sure we can trust you if you don’t tell us everything.” Tony wasn’t sure when he’d gone from an “I” to a “we” but it seemed to have happened. 

Loki smiled nastily.  “Well that is rather hypocritical, do you not think?”

Tony frowned.  He was pretty sure he wasn’t hiding anything.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Loki leaned forward, still with that nasty smirk on his face.  “Did you not think it odd that we have a time frame for our little escape?”

“The Kommandant’s putting in microphones. We can’t dig after the thirtieth.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully.  “A very plausible story, but I would never expect less from Fury.”

Tony was getting fed up.  “Get to the point, Odinson.”

“How does he know about the microphones, Stark?” Loki said in a low voice.  “Do you think the Kommandant would advertise a potential weakness in his defenses?  No, the only way Fury could know is if he has an ally in the Kommandant’s office.  And if that were true, surely he would volunteer that information to aid us in the search for the key.”

“What are you saying?”  Tony looked over to Clint and Peter. They looked unsurprised, which worried Tony greatly. 

“Either Fury is refusing us help for some ulterior motive of his own, or…” Loki trailed off for a second. 

“Or?”

“Or there are no microphones and the deadline is something completely different.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a bit shorter than usual. Just had trouble fitting anything more in without it becoming a monster. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Boxes, Trinkets, and Trickery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a problem. Loki has a problem. They trade.

Tony snapped the last bracket into place and tightened the nut so the box was complete.  He held it up for the assembled diggers to see. 

“See?  Easy as pie.  Just thirty-nine steps.”

One of the men took the box.  They all had rather…blank looks on their faces. 

“So you…put the bottom down first and screw in—“

“No, you’ve got to anchor it first, then you can screw—“

“No, you use the first bracket to anchor the—“

Tony rubbed his face.  He’d given four demonstrations already and none of the diggers seemed close to understanding how to properly construct the stability boxes that were going to allow Muninn to proceed under the road.  If they couldn’t manage it here, in the safety of the rec hall, with a full range of motion, then they were never going to be able to do it in the hole, where the threat of cave-ins were imminent and their shoulders brushed each side of the tunnel.

“Listen, Stark,” said a bull-nosed bald-headed brute of a digger.  “Why don’t we construct them out here and just push them into place?”

They’d been over this as well, but Tony still replied, “We can’t risk the friction between the box and the tunnel walls degrading the tunnel’s integrity.”

They looked at him blankly. 

“It’ll cause a cave in,” he said more simply. 

“Alright,” said the digger.  “How’s about you come down and construct them for us in the tunnel.”

Tony smiled smarmily.  “I would, but that would be against union regulations,” he said, as smugly as possible. 

The digger glared at Tony, but he didn’t ask again. 

Tony clapped his hands.  “Alright!  I think we need a break.  Five minutes, then we’ll go through it again.”

The men dispersed, and Tony walked out of the Rec-Hall to lean against the side of the hut and have a cigarette.  He was getting down to burning his fingertips and no closer to a solution when Rhodes leaned against the wall beside him.

Tony had met Rhodes at breakfast.  The man had reported to him promptly and like a good little soldier.  Tony had just about written him off as a clone of Rogers when he’d revealed he’d been educated in mechanical engineering as well.  After a covert investigation—by which he meant he’d interrogated Rhodes with increasingly difficult math problems—Tony was pleased to note that, though Rhodes wasn’t nearly as brilliant as himself, he did have a decent head on his shoulders.  In fact, Rhodes was someone he thought might actually become his ally in this damned insane camp. 

The man was resourceful as hell, could keep up with the mechanical talk as well as the verbal gibes, and, according to Clint, the only reason Rhodes hadn’t made captain was because they would have given him a desk job and he hadn’t wanted to leave his unit.  He was also man enough to tell Tony when he was being an idiot, but tactful enough to wait until they didn’t have an audience to mention it. 

“You’re an idiot.”

Tony raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Thirty-nine steps?  _Thirty-nine?_ Why would you do that?”

“I know, I know,” Tony said with a tired shrug.  “But that’s how many steps it takes to put together.”

Rhodes sighed.  “Listen, you may, and I mean _may,_ be a genius, but those diggers aren’t.  You can’t give them a gadget with thirty-nine steps and nothing to go on.  Those boxes are going to be the only things keeping them from dying and you’re giving them thirty-nine damn steps.”

“I know this, Rhodes.  But, well, I can’t very well simplify it, can I?  It’ll undermine its efficacy.”

“You can make it easier for them to understand it.” 

“How?”  Tony demanded.  “Make a manual?  Escaping German Prison camps for the Common Housewife?”

Rhodes chuckled.  “Well,” he said, with a significant glance.  “You could go down the tunnel and do it yourself.”

Tony scowled at Rhodes.  “You’re just as sneaky as the rest of them.”

Rhodes smiled.  “It’s part of being in a prison camp. You’ll be as bad as the rest of us soon enough.”

Tony rubbed his face.  “God forbid.”  They stood for a few moments. 

“Can’t you do it?” Tony asked, feeling a whine creep into his voice.  “You’re in the army, you must speak stupid.”

Rhodes laughed.  “You’re in the army, too, Stark,” he reminded him.

Tony sighed after a moment.  “I’ll make it easier.  Somehow.  I’m a genius.  But I’m calling you Rhodey.”

“That’s your revenge?  You’ll have to do better than that to get me to stop being sneaky.”

Tony laughed.  “That sounds like a challenge.”

“The only challenge is you simplifying the assembly of that damn contraption.”

 Tony sighed again.  “Five more minutes?”

***

“Bribery?”  Peter suggested.  Clint, Loki, and he were in the Lieutenant’s tiny room.  Clint was perched on the edge of the desk, Peter was on the bunk, and Loki was pacing the floor.  They were no closer to figuring out a way to find the key in the Kommandant’s office.

“What can we possibly get him that he cannot get himself twice as quickly and with half the hassle?”  Loki asked as he rubbed his temples vigorously. 

“A date?”  Clint suggested with a smirk.  Peter pursed his lips to stop himself from smiling.  Loki looked annoyed, but he was just grumpy, Peter thought.  

“I am afraid we seem to be lacking any people of the female persuasion whose company we could use as a bribe.  Unless…” Loki gave Clint a look. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re not throwing me into a dress and heels and expecting me to seduce the Kommandant.  I’m much too manly.  Peter, though—“

“Hey!”  Peter objected, throwing a roll of dirty socks at Clint’s head.  Clint dodged them and stuck out his tongue.  “Besides, I think he was suggesting using your girlfriend, not that you should get dressed up in drag.”

“Actually, I find it rather telling that Clint would suggest dressing as a woman instead,” Loki said with an almost smile. 

Clint shrugged easily.  “Maybe I just like the feeling of silk on my skin, Odinson.”

Peter laughed and threw a few more socks at Clint.  Loki even smiled, but as soon as it was there, it was gone again, replaced with a frustrated frown. 

“Maybe we could blackmail him,” Peter tried. 

“With what?  To whom?”

“Well, he’s obviously skimming money off the top of the camp.  We could threaten to tell his superiors.”

Both Clint and Loki gave him that familiar look that was all at once pitying, condescending, amused, and altogether awestruck that such innocence still existed in the world.  The one that meant Peter had said something so completely naïve and adorable he would never be able to convince them he was a mature adult after all.

He glared at them.  “We could,” he said stubbornly. 

Their pitying glances intensified until Peter was sure one or the other of them was going to reach out and pinch his cheek like Aunt May did after he hadn’t seen her for a long time.  His bet was on Clint giving into the impulse first.

Loki spoke before anything could happen.  “No, I am afraid we could not,” he said.  “There is the not insubstantial fact that we have no contact with his superiors, not to mention that they would be unlikely to believe us, and are likely just as corrupt themselves.  Parker, there is a long and storied history on this earth of victors looting the losers; I doubt the Kommandant’s creative accounting would be noticed in the face of Hitler’s ransacking of the Louvre.” 

Clint nodded.  “There’s theft and there’s _theft,_ Petey.  Even if we did happen upon a kraut who was straight enough to want to bust corruption, we’d be laughed off for bringing them such small potatoes.  It just ain’t worth their time to do anything about it.  Blackmail’s out.”

Peter sighed.  “So no bribery, no seduction, no blackmail, what else is left?”  He asked glumly.

“Trickery,” Loki said, a slow smile spreading across his face.  “A hook, a tug, and a surprise.”

Peter frowned in confusion as the Lieutenant pulled on his coat and made for the door.  “Where are you going?”  He asked, a bit alarmed at Loki’s sudden epiphany.  He shared a puzzled glance with Clint. 

“I must speak with Stark, we will need a prop or two,” Loki said, yanking open the door of the hut. 

“What kind of prop?  What are you talking about?”  Peter asked, getting up to follow.  Clint stood as well, still looking baffled.

“We need a precious family heirloom, Parker.  Then I must make an appointment with the Kommandant,” Loki said, striding into the parade ground.  “You stay here and let Clint talk to you about corruption. While it is admirable that you have morals, it is foolish to believe that all others possess them.  And doubtless you will be voting soon in your quaint little republic.”

“It’s a democracy!” Peter shouted at Loki’s retreating back.  The Lieutenant just waved dismissively.  Peter turned to Clint.  “I thought we ruled bribery out.  What does he want a family heirloom for?”

Clint shrugged.  “I’m just the muscle, Petey,” he said.  “Now sit down and let me tell you about the graft.”

***

Tony was finishing his eighth run-through of the box assembly when Loki slipped into the back of the Rec-Hall. 

“Step thirty-nine,” He announced for the eighth time that day.  “Screw in the last nut securely.  Everyone got that?”

He looked around the gathered men.  He and Rhodey had handed out the remaining boxes and their components to see if a hands-on teaching approach would be more helpful.  Judging by the single properly assembled box in evidence, it hadn’t really helped. 

Tony kneaded his head with his knuckles.  He had a pressure headache right behind his eyes and the timely arrival of Lieutenant Odinson wasn’t helping.  He stomped back to where Loki was lurking in the corner and demanded, “What do you want?”

“I need—“

“Oh, no.  I cannot deal with you needing anything right now.”

“Alright then,” Loki said calmly.  They stood silently for a few moments.  “Perhaps I could help you with something you need, and then you could build me something infinitely more interesting than these boxes?”

Tony narrowed his eyes.  It was a trap, it had to be.  “What are you offering me?  The reason Fury put a deadline on the escape?”

Loki huffed in amusement.  “You will have to ask him that yourself.  No, but I can aid you with your…” he gestured at the diggers and their shoddily built boxes, “communication issues.”

Tony did some odd mixture of a glare and a gape.  “Do you even know how to put them together?”

Loki looked offended.  “Of course,” he said. “Anchor the bottom panel, lift the bracket, screw in the nut, make sure it is at a right angle, attach the top panel, make sure all the bolts are tightened.  Repeat going counter clockwise.”

 Tony was grudgingly impressed.  “Alright.  Prove it.  You teach these diggers on your first try and I’ll build you a goddamn castle if you want.”

Loki smirked.  “It is hardly anything so gaudy,” he said haughtily.  “A mere trinket.”

Loki walked to the front of the room and rapped his knuckles on the table for attention.  “I apologize for my colleague, Mr. Stark, but it seems he finds condensing his grand plans more difficult than actually making them.  So I am here to aid you.”

Tony felt a twinge of vindictive glee when the diggers looked just as bored with Loki as they were with him. 

“I have,” Loki continued, “found a way that is perhaps easier to remember.  I recall there are thirty-nine steps in this process?”

“Don’t know, we haven’t been able to get through the first five of them,” said one of the diggers.  The rest chuckled.

Loki smiled thinly.  “Well, I find it is best in these situations to come up with a memory technique.  Are any of you familiar with the film by the name, ‘The 39 Steps’?”

“Hell yes!  Madeleine Carroll still keeps me up at night.”  The diggers laughed.

Loki’s smile was a bit broader.  “The film was directed by one Alfred Hitchcock if I remember correctly—“

“Who’s thinking about the director when there’s a dish like Madeleine on the screen?”

Rhodey smacked the digger on the back of the head with his cap.  “Shut it, McDonnell.”

To Tony’s surprise, the digger shut his yap at once.  He needed to learn that.

“The trick is,” Loki continued, “to use a word as a memory trigger.  In this case, Alfred.”

The men looked blank.  Loki picked up the disassembled box in front of him.  “We start with ‘A.’  Anchor the bottom panel.  ‘L.’ Lift the first bracket,” he carefully did each step as he talked.  “’F’: Fasten.  Tighten the bolts on the bracket.  ‘R.’ Right angle.  Check that the bracket and panel make a perfect right angle.  ‘E.’ Edge.  Push the top panel into place and make sure its edge is even with the bottom panel before you tighten the bolt on there.  And finally ‘D.’ Don’t forget to tighten all the bolts in the bracket and panels.  You then proceed counter clockwise remembering that Mr. Hitchcock enjoys a small role in most of his films in which he is seen fixing a clock or timepiece. Once all four brackets are in place, you are free to dig room for the next box.  All clear?”

The box in front of Loki was complete and the men were nodding their heads, working on their own boxes. Tony watched as one after another put their box together perfectly.

“So,” Loki said, coming up behind Tony’s shoulder.  “About that trinket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since last chapter was a little short, I thought I'd make this a bit longer. Yay Alfred Hitchcock references! 
> 
> Also, apparently watching "The Hour" is the cure for writer's block. And, FYI, that is why Tony and Rhodey might sound a bit British. The dialect seeped into my ears. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	18. Broaches, Radios, and Retinues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki executes his plan and mothers Tony. We hear from Natasha.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” Kommandant Kuntz said with a gracious arm gesture. Loki sat in the well-appointed leather chair in front of the Kommandant’s beautiful and imposing desk.  The dark walnut polish gleamed, the leather of the chair was warm and comfortable.  After a year or so of sitting on rough, hard wood and sleeping on straw mattresses, Loki was both glad for the change and frustrated at himself for the feeling. 

He distracted himself by running his hands over the top of the cigar box in his hand, as if unconsciously fearful for its contents.  He could see the Kommandant notice and pretend not to. 

“Thank you, Kommandant,” Loki said politely.  It was always important to be polite, especially with the Kommandant.  He was a details person, Loki knew.  A speck of dust or a medal out of place was noted and analyzed and used against you, as far as the Kommandant was concerned. 

The trick with him was to give him all the tiny details he looked for.  A nervous twitch of the fingers, a layer of dust on the top of the cigar box, a small bruise on Loki’s cheek.  Loki could trust the Kommandant to put the pieces together and find the picture he’d carefully cultivated.  It was ever so much easier, Loki thought, letting your mark come up with your backstory on their own.  And they always felt so proud of themselves afterward.  And while they were patting themselves on the back for figuring it out, they missed what was right in front of them. 

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”  The Kommandant said, moving around the massive desk to sit in his own chair.  “I cannot believe there is already another escape attempt in the works.”

Loki shook his head.  “I assure you not.  I simply wished to speak with you about a…personal matter.”  He let his hands tighten around the box in his lap and stiffened his neck as if he was forcing himself not to look down at it.  Loki could see the Kommandant’s eyes flash with curiosity.  He tried not to feel too smug. 

“Yes?” The Kommandant prompted, looking at Loki’s lap, rather than his eyes. 

Loki swallowed and let his eyes dart around the room.  “Since the collapse of the tunnel, there have been…suspicions leveled at me.”  Loki leaned forward bringing the Kommandant’s attention to his eyes—and the bruise beneath the left one—rather than the box.  “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself,” he continued, “But there are some things I wish to go undiscovered.”

The Kommandant nodded in feigned sympathy.  Loki wondered if the Kommandant would go so far as to reach out and pat his shoulder if the desk was less massive. 

“I have in my possession several objects that, while having a certain intrinsic value, have more value to me in the memories they evoke.  I would be very disappointed if they were lost or stolen to be pawned or melted down into scrap.”

The Kommandant’s eyes were practically glowing with curiosity.  He played it sympathetically, though, only nodding and making commiserating hums in the back of his throat. 

Loki paused in his telling and splayed his hand out on the top of the cigar box.  He looked down at it with unfocused eyes as if deciding.  He gave a tiny nod and took a deep breath, lifting the box to set on the Kommandant’s desk.  It looked small and shabby next to the highly polished brass paperweights and shiny fountain pens. 

“Is there any way that you could keep this safe for me, Kommandant?”  Loki asked, trying to keep his voice on the line between vulnerable and proud.  “In light of my cooperation with your anti-escape efforts?”

The Kommandant smiled.  Loki was sure he had meant the smile kindly, but it came out hungry and shark-like.  “Of course, Lieutenant, of course.  I shall put it in a desk drawer for you to collect whenever you feel it is safer.”

Loki reached out to pull the box back to him, closing off his face so that no emotion could be seen.  “No,” he said, rising in rush, “Perhaps I was wrong to come here—“

The Kommandant was out of his chair and around the desk in a moment, grabbing Loki’s elbow in a steel grip.  Loki froze, not moving a muscle.

The Kommandant seemed to realize he was gripping Loki painfully, because he loosened his hold and pushed him gently back into the chair.  He did not cross back to his own seat, preferring to lean against the front of the desk, towering over Loki in a clear display of dominance.

Loki licked his lips and folded his arms, making himself look smaller.  A tiny prey in front of the Kommandant’s predatory figure.

The Kommandant was looking down at him, he could feel his gaze on the back of his neck, but he kept his eyes on the expensive carpet under his boots.

“You want me to hold it, but not in my desk?” The Kommandant asked finally. 

Loki traced the edge of the cigar box with a finger.  He looked up after a moment. 

“I only wish it to be truly safe.”

The Kommandant frowned.  “You do not believe my desk is safe enough?” He asked.  There was a subtle warning in the words.

“Forgive me,” Loki said quietly, looking down again.  “It is not that I do not trust you, it is just that I—I remember sneaking into my father’s desk when I was young, not maliciously, just out of curiosity.  Is there not somewhere a bit more…private?”

The Kommandant considered Loki for a few moments.  “I suppose I could do that,” he said eventually.  “But for it to remain private, I believe I will have to ask you to leave before I stow it.”

Loki’s hands spasmed on the box. “I-I do not know…”

The Kommandant rested his fists on his hips and waited.  Loki took a deep breath.  “Yes, I suppose that would be best.”

The Kommandant took the cigar box from Loki’s limp hands and placed it on the desk behind him.

“Do not worry yourself, Lieutenant.  I will keep it safe for you.”

Loki nodded and waited for the Kommandant to move before standing.  He smoothed out his jacket as he stood, discretely drying his palms on the wool of his uniform.  “Thank you, Herr Kommandant.  I appreciate the favor, sir.”

The Kommandant smiled.  “Of course, Lieutenant.  I am very glad to continue our arrangement in a way that is mutually beneficial.”

Loki covered his smirk with a sickly smile as he shook the Kommandant’s hand.

***

Kommandant Kuntz sneered at Odinson’s back.  He’d never been so glad he’d taken the woman’s advice and told Odinson his country had joined the Germans.  It was the gift that kept on giving.   Who would have guessed that one little lie would have the Lieutenant eating out of the palm of his hand.  First Kuntz was able to shut down a dangerous escape attempt and now Odinson was practically begging for Kuntz to take his valuables. 

Kuntz waited until he could see the Lieutenant’s retreating back out the window before he popped open the top of the cigar box.  Inside were a few letters written in slanting foreign letters that were neither German nor English.  He moved them aside to look at the other contents of the box. 

Underneath the letters was a golden broach, gaudy and no doubt expensive.  It was a bulky thing, shaped like an odd horned helmet.  It was a bit tarnished with age and the elaborate goat’s horns looked as if they had been twisted until they were almost touching.  Kuntz raised his eyebrows at the broach.  It must be of nostalgic value indeed, because he could not picture anyone beside an old auntie paying anything more than a few marks for it. 

The Aesir always did have an odd sense of fashion though. 

Kuntz put the broach and letters back into the cigar box with a shrug.  He might as well hide the hideous thing, if only to soothe the Lieutenant’s feathers.  He pressed the lever behind his desk and entered the key code, opening a small compartment.  He stowed the cigar box inside and shut the door with a decisive click.

***

“Did he take it?” Peter asked eagerly when Loki returned. 

The Lieutenant nodded quickly, taking off his jacket as he entered the hut.  Clint, Peter, and Tony were huddled around a bulky piece of metal and wiring that had been constructed from a wireless radio, a defective telephone and other various odds and ends. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently.  “Is it transmitting?”

Tony fiddled with some of the knobs and dials.  “Picking up a vague compass reference, but if you get us in there, we should be able to narrow it down to the precise location of the key.  That is, if you convinced him to hide it where he put the key.”

Loki smirked at him.  “Do not worry yourself, Stark.  I have attended to my part.  If he does decide to put it in a desk drawer instead, it will be because you could not manage to make the damned thing look valuable enough to warrant protection.”

Peter and Clint snickered.  Tony had spent three days working on the broach in between overseeing the tunnel digging and upgrading the ventilation and so forth.  He still hadn’t managed to make the doodad look like a priceless family heirloom rather than a lump of misshapen gold.

Tony scowled grumpily.  “Do you know how difficult it is to make a radio transmitter look like anything other than a radio transmitter?  Let alone a valuable broach?”

“I have listened to you whine about it for days, so yes, I suppose I am aware,” Loki sniped back, examining the receiver.  “The least you could do was make the antennae less…goat-like.”

The Lieutenant had made the plan just after they’d talked, Peter thought.  It was the derivative of an old con, he said.  A man planning to rob a bank or security box would scope out the defenses by posing as someone who wished to invest their own valuables there. He could ask all the questions he wanted in the name of wishing his belongings to be safe, while observing any special protocol the bank manager might have. 

Of course, the Kommandant would never truly trust Loki, so he couldn’t count on him actually showing them where he would put the ‘valuable broach.’  That was where Tony came in. 

He’d built the broach as a transmitter of very high-frequency radio waves, unlikely to be picked up by regular receivers.  Along with the transmitter he’d made a receiver that would pick up these radio waves. They could follow the strength of the signal to the hiding place in the Kommandant’s office.

That was if the Kommandant hid the broach with the key.

“I think the broach being ugly is a good thing,” Clint said sagely.  “Kuntz will be less likely to pawn it off straight away.”

 “Exactly!” Tony said, throwing up his arms.  “It’s good the thing is uglier than sin.”

Peter and Clint chuckled.  Loki frowned at Tony.  “When did you last sleep?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Tony shrugged nonchalantly.  “Sleep is for the weak.”

“Parker?”

“He hasn’t been in bed for more than an hour or two since he started working on the tunnel.”

Loki reached down and grabbed Stark by the elbow, pulling him upright.  Tony swayed a bit on his feet.  Loki nodded like that told him all he needed to know. 

“You need sleep,” he said.  “Parker, please take Stark to his bunk, and make sure he does not leave it for eight hours.”

“I’m an adult!  I don’t need—“

“Hush or it will be nine hours.  I will talk to Lieutenant Rhodes.  He can manage the tunnel in your absence for a few hours.  Clint, would you mind organizing Rhodes’ lookouts while he is occupied?”

Clint grinned at Tony.  “No problem, Lieutenant.  I always thought you made a marvelous mother hen.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, dry as desert.  “Dismissed.”

***

Natasha was just about ready to leave at the end of her shift.  It had been a long morning of waitressing at the café and she was more than glad to be free to go back to her apartment and decode orders and practice her knife throwing.  The monotony of the café life was wearing on her more than the constant paranoia of living behind enemy lines. 

She was just pulling on her coat when the door swung open to reveal five tall, broad foreigners talking jollily amongst themselves.

“Five coffees and pastries for me and my retinue of ragamuffins,” the lone woman said to Gertrude, the afternoon waitress.  “We have worked up a hunger in our travels.”

Natasha took off her coat again and hung it on the rack.  She had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. :)


	19. Coffee, Tunnels, and Warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha meets Thor and company, Thor is kind of the Captain America of Asgard, Steve gets out of the cooler, and Sif hears a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: If you haven't read Prince to Prisoner (the story in this series that explains Loki's past) this might be a little confusing.

Natasha served the table of Asgardians their fourth round of coffee.  She knew who they were, of course.  She’d gotten dossiers on them the moment she returned to London with Loki in tow.  This was only marginally supplemented by Loki’s own remembrances of his homeland.  There didn’t seem to be enough liquor in England for her to get a whole picture of his past, but she’d gotten a couple few hints. 

The blond leader was Thor, first-born prince of Asgard, and Loki’s older brother.  The dossier had said he was five years older than Loki, as well as the heir to the throne.  Thor was apparently also a soldier, having joined the Asgardian military at sixteen as was traditional for male members of the royal family.  He’d risen through the ranks at an astonishing speed and, apparently, it wasn’t only his royal status that did it. 

He was an amazing fighter, a strong and charismatic leader, and the four-year champion of the Asgardian New Year’s Contest—a sort of Olympics cum medieval tournament that featured a great deal of competitive fighting.  He was, frankly, adored.  There were Prince Thor films and collectible photographs and it was rumored his face would adorn a new coin on his thirtieth birthday.  She might have thought the file was exaggerating his popularity if she had never met Loki. 

_“Did they really hold celebrations for the whole month he was born?”_

_Loki had shrugged.  “It would not surprise me, but I was not alive to witness it.  His coming-of-age was a month of celebrations, though.  With anticipatory feasts for six months preceding it and a frankly massive feast the day of his birth.  I believe the entire capitol had the day off.  I think they even released a special pin for it as well.  For the children who collect those things.”_

_She hadn’t ask about his own celebrations.  She could read the answer in the bitter twist of his lips.  Natasha poured him more vodka and changed the subject, vowing not to speak of his brother for at least another week or so._

The other men were known as the Warriors Three, apparently.  It was a nickname they had cultivated when they were young and still stuck.  Loki seemed to think they wished to shake it off, but somehow it always came back to them.  They, too, were members of the army, quite high-ranking, too.  However, they were never given squads of their own to command, but rather served as emissaries for Thor. 

Hogun was the one with no sense of humor, a commoner who Thor had met in their childhood combat training and taken a liking to.  Fandral was the handsome one of noble birth and had been hoisted upon the princes as a friend by his politically savvy mother.  Volstagg was the fat one who came from merchant stock and who had joined their marry band last.  He was older than the rest, but, according to Loki, not necessarily wiser.

The woman, Natasha knew, was Sif.  She was the one Natasha was most interested in.  The Lady Sif was a distant member of the royal family.  Close enough that she had royal blood, but far enough away that if she married one of the princes—as it was rumored she would—it would not be considered incest.   

She was also a warrior, one of the first women to join the Asgardian army and certainly the first to rise to such a high rank.  Sif was also the only one of Thor’s friends that Loki spoke of with anything other than complete disdain. 

_“You would like her, I think,” he’d said.  “She is very strong.  Not just physically.  If it were just physical she would never have made it. She had to be clever, too.  She had to walk the line between challenging them and angering them and she did so admirably.”_

_“Were you friends?”  She’d asked.  It would make sense; explain how he came to trust Natasha._

_He’d shrugged.  “Of a sort.  Outsiders call to each other, I suppose.  We could commiserate.  But I was always second to Thor.”_

_He didn’t say it, but she knew his last statement applied to more than just the Lady Sif._

Natasha watched them from behind the counter.  She’d volunteered to take Gertrude’s shift to keep an eye on them.  They sat at one of the tables in the middle of the café, eating and joking and not even trying to blend in.  They weren’t even speaking German.  How on earth did they get this far into Germany without being caught?

She grabbed a tray and circled around their table until she is close to Sif, the only one not taking part in an animated conversation about swords if her Aesir serves her right. 

“My Lady Sif,” she murmured quietly in embarrassingly accented Aesir.  “I would speak to you of your hair-cutting friend.”

Sif contained her reaction to a slight angling of her body and widened eyes.  No wonder she was Loki’s favorite, Natasha thought. The men continued their conversation, unnoticing. 

“What do you know of L—him?”  Sif asked just as quietly.  She’d turned her body completely away from the table, but had covered the motion with a dropped napkin.

“I will speak to you later, in private.  Come see me after my shift.  The apartment in the back.  Come alone,” Natasha said, moving to bus another table.

Sif forestalled her with a grip on her wrist.  It was not tight, but held the promise it could be.  “How do I know I can trust you?”

Natasha smiled a smile she learned from Loki.  “If I am his friend, you should know better than to do so.”

Sif said nothing, but released her.  She turned back to her conversation with the men, but shot Natasha covert glances until they left for their hotel.

***

Steve was let out of the cooler after the rest of the camp had already eaten lunch.  He walked slowly, still stiff from the concrete floors and cold air of the cell he’d spent the last nine days in.  He squinted in the sun and wondered if it had been an eternity, or just felt like it. 

He went to check on Muninn first.  He didn’t want to think about Huginn or Coulson—Phil—any more than he had to, but he had a duty to attend to.  He nodded to the lookout at the door and entered Hut 9. 

Rhodes greeted him.  “Captain,” He said with a nod.

Steve nodded back.  “Going well?” He asked, leaning down to peek into the hole. 

“We’re already under the road, and if we keep up the pace we’re setting we should be to the other side by the thirteenth.”

Steve raised his eyebrow.  He had estimated that task would take at least two weeks.  “You’ve done good work, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me, sir.  I’m just manning the tunnel for the day.  Stark’s been the push behind Muninn.”

“Stark?” Steve asked.  It didn’t make sense.  The man was a good engineer and all, but was Fury thinking?  Stark didn’t have any authority or gravitas.  Everything was a joke to him.  How could Fury have given him Muninn?

“Yes sir.  Apparently he was working on this as well as some secret project from Loki.  It was Odinson who insisted he take a day off.  Hadn’t slept for three days.  They asked me to supervise while he got some kip.” 

Steve nodded slowly.  “He’s been doing a good job of it then?  The leadership, I mean?”

Rhodes smiled.  “There’ve been some snags along the way.  He doesn’t know how to simplify his genius ramblings for us mere mortals, he still acts like everybody’s friend rather than a commanding officer, he won’t delegate anything except the most menial tasks, but damn it if he doesn’t get things done.”

Steve chewed on his lip.  It did sound like Tony Stark’s obsessive, self-destructive pattern of leadership was making progress.  It was a bit disturbing to think of.  He nodded again to Rhodes. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.  Do you know if Stark is still sleeping?”

Rhodes smiled again.  “I saw him sneaking out of his Hut a half an hour ago.  I’d check the kitchens.  He’s probably at his forge there.”

Rogers said goodbye and set off across the courtyard.

***

They turned up just after dark.  Natasha had told Sif to come alone, but she wasn’t particularly surprised when the dark silhouette through her door window was shaped like two people instead of one.  She turned the knob and gestured the two Asgardians in. 

Sif and her companion sat in the tiny sofa in Natasha’s flat.  It was so small they were nearly on top of one another, but the only other seat was Natasha’s rocker, and she had left her notebook sitting there.  She picked up the notebook and sat as well, facing the two Asgardians.

“What do you know of my brother?” Thor said as soon as she sat. Sif shot him a look of irritation.  Natasha could tell the woman had probably told Thor to play it differently only to be forgotten in his impatience. 

“That if you go to see him, you could be responsible for his death.”

Sif’s eyebrows rose and she leaned back further in the sofa.  It was Thor’s reaction that truly interested Natasha, though.  His face flashed shock and anger before settling on confusion. 

“What do you mean by—“

“I do not believe we have been introduced.  I am the Lady Sif, as you know, and this is Prince Thor of Asgard," Sif cut him off effortlessly. Natasha was impressed. Sif sat forward again and reached out a hand to shake Natasha’s.  

Natasha smiled as Thor gave Sif a huffy look.  “I am Natasha Romanova,” she said, shaking Sif’s hand.  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Excuse my forthrightness, but I am a frank woman, Miss Romanova.  I would like to know exactly what your connection is with the prince and what you know of his situation.”

“I’m afraid that I am neither forthright nor frank, my lady,” Natasha replied.  “I can tell you very little except that I have been a friend to Loki since he left Asgard and you visiting him would put him in danger.”

“What—“ Thor tried to interrupt again, but Sif again spoke over him.

“We have travelled over three countries to get here.  Are you saying that we should just turn back?”

“Yes.  He will be much safer when you go.”

Sif looked thoughtful.  Thor looked angry.  “You say he will be safer in the hands of Nazis than with his own brother? In that flea-ridden prison camp? This is preposterous. Sif, we are leaving.”

Sif didn’t move.  “He told you that story?  About him cutting my hair?”

Natasha nodded.  “He said that afterwards you were friends of a sort.”

Thor sat back down, looking between them.  He obviously didn't understand the subtext, but he could identify it.  Natasha saw Loki's hand in that.

Sif smiled a bit.  “Of a sort.’  That sounds like him. We cannot leave on your word alone.  We need more than that.  The whole story.”

Natasha had prepared for this.  She'd known they wouldn't take her at face value, that was just wishful thinking, but giving them his story without a fight would have felt too much like betrayal for her to stomach.

She smoothed her skirt over her legs and began the story with their first meeting, telling them the barest details, the simplest facts.  She wouldn’t give them his emotions, not when they were so hard won for herself. 

She told him of his suicide attempts, his role in the British army, his work in the spy business.  She skipped over Laufey’s death—she wasn't sure how much they knew of his parentage—and told them of how he’d found himself in a prison camp.  She told him of his mission and of his lie to the Kommandant. 

When she was done, they sat in silence for a while. 

“What sent him off the bridge?” Sif said at last.  “He did not have to jump.  Frigga would have talked Odin around to letting Loki remain in school.”

Natasha shrugged her shoulders.  “That is not my story to tell.”

Thor stood suddenly.  “Then we shall have to get it from my brother.”

Natasha stood as well.  “I told you; going to the camp will endanger Loki.  A prince of Asgard showing up out of the blue will tell ruin the Kommandant’s confidence in Loki and, in turn, ruin our plans.”

“Then I will not go as a prince of Asgard.  I will disguise myself as a normal prisoner.” 

Sif was looking at Natasha.  “There is more, is there not?”

Natasha sighed.  “If you go to the camp, Loki will be in danger because of the Kommandant, but he will also be a danger to himself.  I don’t know what he will do if you find him, but I nor do I know what he might do to ensure you don’t.”

Sif took a deep breath, looking pale and worried.  Thor looked shocked and angry and sad.  

Natasha held her breath until he answered. 

"I will think on this, Lady Romanova," he said at last.  "I cannot promise to leave him here, but I will think on what you have told me."

Natasha nodded.  That was all she could hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the random Steve section in the middle, but it just felt weird having the Fourth of July and no Captain America. So I let him out of the cooler and gave him some encouraging news. Forgive me my self-indulgence. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! :D


	20. Cabinets and Snakeskins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony bond and Clint meets Sif.

Steve followed Rhodes’ suggestion and made his way to the kitchens to search for Stark.  It was mid-afternoon, when he opened the door to the rather small, rather cramped kitchens.  All the cooks seemed to be taking a break before they had to start supper, and the place seemed to be deserted.  Steve glanced at the small forge in the corner, almost screened from view by a number of large bags of potatoes and a pile of dishcloths.  He took a few steps into the small kitchen and looked around. Stark didn’t seem to be there, Steve thought.  Maybe he’d gone through to the dining hall.  Steve circled the kitchen island and nearly tripped over Stark’s prone form, half-way out of the tiny cabinets of the island.

A spark of panic hit Steve hard in the chest when he saw Stark lying there, not moving.  A spark that flared up to cloud his mind with smoke so the only thing he could see was Bucky, Bucky on the ground, Bucky with a Nazi bullet hole in his chest, and he could smell smoke, and hear screaming.  And then his mind was only a blur of _not again, not again, not again._

Suddenly, Bu—Stark moved, shifting his legs so they were no longer in the cabinet, and Steve took a deep, shuddering breath that felt like his first in ages.  As soon as he let it out there seemed to be another rushing in to meet it and he was breathing fast, panting through his mouth and sagging against the counter. 

“—Rogers?”  Steve looked up to see Stark above him, and how had that happened?  Stark had a hand on Steve’s shoulder and an expression of concern on his pale face. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asked between gasps.  “Are you okay?”

Stark huffed a laugh, but his smile looked more worried than amused. 

“I’m fine, Cap, how about you?”

Steve nodded mutely and swallowed.  He was slowly regaining his thought processes, his breath returning to normal.  He was seated in a heap on the floor, his back braced against the oven door.  Stark was kneeling beside him, his hand still on Steve’s shoulder, like he was worried Steve would pitch forward if he let go. Steve couldn’t honestly say whether it was a valid concern or not. 

“I’m fine,” Steve said eventually.  “You just—you reminded me of something,” he gestured to where Stark had been laying, “and it surprised me.”

“Understatement of the year, Cap,” Stark said, but he turned and lowered himself so they were sitting companionably, shoulder to shoulder.

Steve was beginning to feel embarrassed about his…episode.  Really, it was ridiculous, thinking about—about Bucky.  He knew that.  There was no need to go fainting over something so simple as a dark haired man lying on the ground.  It was silly. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, moving to lever himself up.  “Don’t know what came over me.”

Stark reached up to hold his shoulder again, keeping him on the floor with ease.

Steve yielded to the restraining hand and glanced over at Stark.  The other man wasn’t looking at him, just staring idly into the middle distance as if they were on a park bench in New York City rather than the kitchen floor of a POW camp in Germany. 

They sat there in silence for a time.

“Plenty of men get them,” Stark said eventually.  “Little episodes where they lose track of reality and feel like they’re on the battlefield again, smell the sweat, the metal.  My old man got them bad.  He fought in the Great War.  He’d lock himself up in his workshop for days so we couldn’t see them.  But we did.  How his eyes would go distant and suddenly he wouldn’t be there.  He saw it as a sign of weakness.  It wasn’t though.  Just, you know, life.”

Stark turned his head to face Steve.  “You’ll be fine, Cap.”

Stark moved an arm like he was about to get up and leave. 

“You look like him,” Steve said suddenly, because Stark had given him something—a weakness, a measure of trust, a secret—and Steve owed him a return on the favor.  “My pal.  You act like him, too.  He was always ribbing me.  Always keeping me from getting too high on my horse.” 

Stark settled back in against the oven door.  “He sounds like a good guy.”

“He was." Steve swallowed.  It was alright to talk about Bucky.  It was okay.  "I’d known him since we were little kids. I’d never spent more than a week without talking to him.  After, I guess it wasn’t just losing him.  It was losing his effects.  The way he changed me just by being there.  I was a better person when he was there.  I had to figure out how to balance myself after that.  I’m still figuring it out.”

Stark smiled at him.  It was a softer expression than Steve was used to.  Like he’d let down some invisible walls so Steve could see the understanding there. 

“We’re all figuring it out, Cap,” he said, patting Steve on the shoulder.  “Don’t let anybody tell you different.”

Stark shook himself, like he was ridding himself of the seriousness of the conversation.  He got to his feet and held out a hand for Steve to take.  With a grunt, Stark pulled him to his feet.  “Sheesh, Cap, usually a week in the cooler will make a man lose some pounds.”

Steve looked down at himself.  “I think I did.  I’m just a naturally husky person.”

“No,” Stark said, eying Steve up and down.  “What you are is built like a brick shithouse.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile, despite the profanity.  “What were you doing on the floor anyway?” he asked. 

He wasn’t expecting Stark to tense up at the question.  The other man’s shoulders squared and his smile froze unnaturally.  He was defensive about something, Steve guessed.  He’d been doing something he shouldn’t have been.  Or perhaps something he thought Steve would disapprove of.

Steve could pinpoint the moment Stark decided not to lie. 

“I was seeing how long I could last in the cabinet,” he said, his jaw jutting stubbornly.

“How long—“  Steve started questioningly and then he got it.  He remembered offering to show Stark the inside of the tunnel and him refusing, the rumors that he’d built himself a suit and the Nazis waited hours to cut him out after he’d been trapped inside, the way Stark talked about the episodes—too personal to be just his father’s second-hand experiences. 

“You’re claustrophobic,” he murmured.  The way Tony didn’t move a muscle only confirmed it. 

It was bad. Tony was on the list.  What’s more, he was almost at the top now that he was heading tunnel digging.  If he got halfway through and had a meltdown, then the escape would be ruined.  He was a risk to everyone involved. 

Tony chuckled nervously.  “I know it’s not good, Cap.  I thought I could, I don’t know, just suck it up and get over it.  Then I try and test it and end up having a fit in the kitchen cupboard.”

Steve nodded slowly.  He knew what he should do.  He should go to Fury right now and get Stark taken off the list.  He should give Stark a dressing-down for keeping something so important a secret.  He should do a lot of things.

What he did was ask, “How long did you last?”

Stark knew what Steve should do to and looked confused as to why he hadn’t called Fury or yelled or any of the multitudes of things he should.  “Maybe five minutes?” he said after a pause.

“Do you think you’re up to working up a tolerance to it?”

Stark smiled slowly.  His eyes hadn’t lost their confusion, but he seemed pleased.  “I think I could work on it,” he said.

***

Clint hadn’t been out of the camp for nearly a week.  Usually he visited Natasha every other day or so, but between the collapse of the tunnel and him taking over Rhodes’ lookouts, he didn’t get out until the day after Loki had planted the broach.

He was quite looking forward to seeing Tasha and getting away from the damned spy stuff.  Which seemed rather like a contradiction in terms, but Tasha, unlike Loki, didn’t take her work home with her.  Or so he thought before he opened the door of Tasha’s apartment and found himself staring down the blade of a rather beautiful antique spear-thing.

He followed the shaft of the spear-thing (it wasn’t a true spear, Clint knew that much, because spears often looked much like a longer, heavier arrows, and this looked more like a machete on a stick) to see a rather beautiful woman holding it to his neck.  He smiled. 

“Well, hello there,” Clint said with his cheesiest grin.  He eyed her up and down.  “Aren’t you just a tall drink of water.”

Clint heard a groan from inside the apartment, as well as something probably insulting said in soft Russian.  As expected, the woman rolled her eyes and lowered the spear-thing. 

“You are Clinton?” The tall woman asked in slightly accented English. 

“Yeah, who are you?” Clint said.  He was guessing probably Resistance, but the accent and the spear were throwing him off.  The woman only stepped aside to let Clint in the apartment.

Natasha was sitting in her rocker, looking a mixture of pleased to see him and annoyed they’d been interrupted.  “This is the Lady Sif Eirsdottir of Asgard.  Lady Sif, this is Corporal Clint Barton of the United States Army.”

Oh.  One of Loki’s people.  That could be bad.  That could be very bad.

The Lady Sif held out her hand and Clint shook it firmly.  Sif looked a bit confused—maybe he was supposed to kiss it?—but she didn’t seem to hold it against him.

“You are one of Loki’s?” Sif asked.  Which was funny, because that was going to be Clint’s first question, too. 

Clint shrugged.  “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“He and Loki work together, yes.  Clint takes messages between Loki and I,” Natasha broke in.  “Maybe you should sit and we can talk.”

The Lady Sif nodded.  She went to sit on the small sofa.  Clint decided against squishing up against her and perched himself on Natasha’s small sewing table. 

“So,” Natasha said, obviously returning to what she and Sif had been speaking about before Clint had arrived.  “You don’t think Thor will leave?”

Sif shook her head, glancing at Clint.  “No.  Not without seeing his brother.  I honestly cannot say I blame him.  He wants answers.  And I believe he wishes to see for himself that Loki is truly alive and well.  When we received word, no one was sure whether to believe it.”

Natasha sighed.  “I meant what I said.  Thor may want to see Loki, but Loki does not want to see Thor.”

Sif glanced at Clint, as if to ask him whether what she was saying was true. 

“He got piss-drunk when we heard his brother was coming,” he said with a shrug.  “And it wasn’t the happy kind of drunk.”

Sif raised her eyebrows.  “Loki never gets drunk,” she said. 

Natasha leaned forward.  “He does now.  In Asgard, he was a prince.  I doubt drunkenness was considered a princely quality.”

“That never stopped Thor.” Sif said with a frown.

“I doubt anyone would say a thing against Thor if he got drunk,” Natasha answered. 

Sif sighed.  “I suppose not.  He is something of an idol in Asgard.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked.  “Wouldn’t the entire royal family be idols?”

“Thor is different,” Natasha said, looking at Sif.  “They worship him there.”

Sif sighed and explained, “You must understand, Thor was born in the midst of the Aesir-German war.  It was a particularly violent and terrible time for Asgard.  So the birth of a prince was played up by the press as a distraction from the war.  It was something of a morale booster for the entire country.  The first pages of all the newspapers were photographs of a smiling baby rather than the death count.  I think the country rather fell in love with him.

“And as he grew up, that love only grew.  He was, and is, the epitome of everything Asgardian.  We are a culture that values strength, courage, and exuberance, and Thor has all of these things in abundance.  Even his vices are those that we most admire: a hot temper, a spirited drunk, a notorious seducer of women.  He is the model Asgardian and the people love him for it."

“And Loki?” Natasha asked. 

Sif looked a bit sad.  “And Loki was born after the war.  His birth announcement was swallowed up by the peace celebrations and the relief efforts.  After that, he was mostly ignored.  There was no need for morale-boosters when we had finally won the war.  That was celebration enough.  I remember hearing a story of a peasant buying a newspaper that finally had a photograph of the entire royal family and asking who the dark little boy was standing beside Prince Thor.

“Furthermore, where Thor was everything an Asgardian should be, Loki was everything we are taught to most detest.  His best qualities—intelligence, subtlety, pragmatism—are those that most Asgardians cannot appreciate.  And he flaunted his differences, taking only the most rudimentary combat training, hiding himself away in books, playing pranks on the stuffiest old tutors.”

Sif shifted in her seat, sitting forward.  “When a child comes of age in Asgard, it is traditional for them to take an animal as their shield totem, something that represents them in battle.  A bear or lion is most common, something large and frightening.  Thor took a lightning bolt.  I took a dragon. 

“Loki took a snake.  The lowest of creatures.  I came to him and asked him what possessed him to do something so ridiculous and do you know what he told me?  He said the snake was his because, like the snake, he was changeable.  Able to shuck or don any skin.  I asked him why he would think that a virtue, surely it was a sign of a hypocrite.  ‘No,’ he said.  ‘Snakes change their skin, but they always remain the same underneath.  You can trust a snake’s heart, but not his skin.  Who you should really fear are those who can change their heart in a moment, like the snake changes his skin. Those are the true hypocrites.’

“I often thought of that after they told us he jumped.  I wondered if he had forgotten that lesson somewhere along the way and decided the skin was more important than the heart.”  Sif looked from Natasha to Clint and back.  "He may have been Laufey's in skin, but he was ours in heart."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that this chapter was incredibly hard to write? I'm still not sure Steve and Tony's conversation sounds at all natural. And Sif was super chatty and I love her so I couldn't edit anything out. 
> 
> Whining over, Thanks for Reading! :)


	21. After the Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha wonder what to do next. Sif does not.

Clint watched as Natasha bid Sif goodbye at the door.  She hadn’t said much after her stories of Loki and Thor’s childhoods.  She couldn’t say whether or not Thor was likely to go back to Asgard without Loki.  Clint even thought he saw hesitancy in her eyes when she spoke of leaving.  That didn’t seem to bode well for their chances.  If he and Natasha couldn’t convince her they had little chance of convincing Thor through her. 

Natasha crossed the room and sat again in the rocker.  Clint went to sit across from her in the sofa. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” she said, sounding tired. 

“Not really,” Clint said.  It was blunt, but he knew she preferred unadorned honesty. 

Natasha began pulling the pins from her hair and clipping them onto the bottom of her skirt so she wouldn’t lose them.  Clint had seen the action enough times to recognize that it was just busywork for her hands while she ran over the conversation again in her mind, searching for any subtext, analyzing every breath and determining if she’d missed anything. 

“She knew about his birth father,” she murmured, adjusting the pins so they were exactly straight, crossing the plaid of her skirt at a precise right angle. 

“They couldn’t have kept something like that a complete secret.  Besides, didn’t Loki reveal it before he jumped off the bridge?” Clint asked.  He’d been told of Loki’s true parentage a few months after he had begun working with them.  He knew it was significant, but wasn’t entirely sure why.  He understood that maybe the fact that Loki's birth father was a Nazi might cast doubt on his loyalty to Britain or Asgard, but Laufey had abandoned him, and then Loki had killed Laufey.  Surely that made it better?

Natasha finished with her pins and sat back in the rocker.  “He left a letter in the king’s study.  So the king likely knows, and maybe some servants, but I doubt they released the information to the general populace.  If anything, it would likely be rumor.  But she said he was ‘Laufey’s skin.’”

“So they know.”

“Maybe,” Natasha was rocking the chair idly, frowning at the ceiling.  “In the conversation I had with her and Thor, she didn’t seem to know.  She asked me why he would have jumped, implied that she thought it was because Odin had forbidden Loki from going back to university.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Perhaps she was testing me, trying to figure out how much I know.  Perhaps only she knows and she was keeping it from Prince Thor.” Natasha stopped rocking to rub her head.  “Perhaps Thor knew and only told her in the interim between visits.” 

Clint got up.  They were much too sober for this.  He went to the icebox and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard. 

“спасибо,” Natasha murmured as she poured them shots.  They drank and grimaced and Natasha poured again.

“What are we going to do?”  Clint asked.

“You mean are we going to tell Loki or not.”  It was true, but Clint hadn’t wanted to say that.  Mostly because it felt like colluding behind Loki’s back. 

Clint didn’t argue, though.  “Thor might decide to leave.” Natasha raised her eyebrows in skepticism, but Clint continued anyway.  “It could happen.  And then we’d just scare the shit out of him for nothing.  He’d probably get alcohol poisoning.”

“If they go in and we haven’t warned him, he will see it as a betrayal.”  She’d stopped rocking and was now leaning forward in the chair, her eyes on the floor. 

Clint liked Loki, but Natasha was truly the man’s friend.  It was her who was taking the greatest hit from this decision.  Clint wouldn’t force her into anything, but he did have to make sure that all the information was being considered. 

“The eighteenth is the day after tomorrow,” he said quietly, not looking at her. 

She raised her head to look at the embroidered wall calendar.  “дерьмо.”

***

Fandral was leaning against the wall of the hotel when Sif got back.  When he heard her approach he stubbed out his cigarette and buried the butt under the tulips in a window box. 

“Well?” He asked, blowing smoke in Sif’s face.  She waved it away irritably. 

“That is a nasty habit,” she said, nodding to the window box.  “No woman wants a man who tastes of ash.”

“You should tell them that,” Fandral grinned.  It faded a second later.  “But really.  Where were you?”

“I spoke to the waitress again.”

“Ah.  Any more forthcoming?” 

Sif shrugged.  “I was able to have a conversation rather than an interrogation.”

Fandral winced in sympathy.  “Who can blame him, though?  We have traveled across three countries for someone we thought was dead.  And then she tells him Loki would slit his wrists as soon as look at him.”

Sif grimaced.  “Do not joke about it.”

Fandral gave her an apologetic look.  He did not mean to be crass, she knew.  It did not make it any easier to bear.  He was quiet for a few moments before asking, “Did you get anything more?”

Sif rolled out her shoulders.  She wished this town had a dance hall.  She always did her best thinking in motion.  Fighting was best, but dancing would do almost as well. 

“I met another of his—“ she did not want to say friends, “people.”

“Another woman?” Fandral asked, a smile creeping into his voice. 

“A man, I am afraid,” Sif said drily.  “He was a terrible flirt.”

Fandral smiled.  “Perhaps Loki is missing us, surrounding himself with woman warriors and terrible flirts.”

Sif smiled back.  It felt strange on her face. 

Fandral seemed to be working his way up to something.  She waited. 

“So you think it really is him?” Fandral asked after a moment.

Sif sighed.  She wished she was sure.  It seemed too good to be true.  Almost two years after Loki’s suicide, Thor had overheard his father talking with one of his ministers.  About Loki.  About him surviving.  According to Thor, Odin had been ignoring the rumors of Loki’s survival since a month after he had jumped. 

The Allfather had said the tales were just peasants letting their imaginations run wild.  It was just another Anastasia situation, he had said.  It was best not to encourage them, he had said.  Otherwise, impersonators were likely to come out of the woodwork, he had said, wasting everyone’s time and resources investigating what was basically a confidence scheme.  And really, was it not better spare Frigga the inevitable heartache?  She was really too delicate for this sort of thing. 

Thor had not agreed.  Quite vocally.  Vocally enough that the guards had escorted him to his chambers to cool his temper. 

Sif had been surprised when he seemed to do so.  At the evening meal, Thor had apologized publically, lifting a toast to his father in front of the entire court.  Thor’s temper was legendary.  It was not like him to reconcile with his father so soon after a disagreement.   

She was even more surprised when he had found her in the armory and requested her help on a quest to find his brother.  He had never been one for duplicity—that was Loki’s domain—and yet there he was, fooling his father to find his renegade little brother.  But she had agreed, of course. 

Sif had known it would be dangerously close to treason to help Thor in his quest.  Odin hadn’t forbidden it, but it was implied that he disapproved of the endeavor.  And the disapproval of the Allfather was something no one wished to attract. 

That had not stopped either her or the Warriors Three.  They knew Thor would protect them, of course, but they would have helped him regardless.  They would gladly commit treason for Thor.  And Loki?  Well, Loki had not been a friend to them, not exactly.  But he neither had he been an enemy.  They had grown up together.  If there was a chance of his survival, they owed it to him to investigate.

And here they were, in war-torn Germany with the next-in-line-to-the-throne and she still was unsure whether Loki was not actually at the bottom of the Baltic Sea. 

“She knew about my hair,” she said finally, in answer to Fandral’s question. The woman _had_ called Loki her “hair-cutting friend.” 

“That was not exactly a secret,” Fandral pointed out.  This was also true.  Sif’s mother had hidden her shorn locks under hats and bonnets, but the public was not stupid.  They had noticed when her long, gold hair had been exchanged for black strands barely reaching her shoulders. 

“Who but the court knew it was Loki wielding the scissors?” 

Fandral shrugged.  It meant nothing, they both knew. The odds were still even.  And Thor would not care for odds.  He made decisions with his heart, not his mind.  Not that there was any decision to make. The decision had been made nearly two weeks ago, when they had left Asgard.

The night before they were set to leave, Sif was summoned to the queen’s sewing room.  This was not an uncommon occurrence.  Sif’s mother was a close friend of Frigga.  She was often asked in for chats about her home, to carry messages to her mother, or to ask about whatever Thor and his friends were doing. 

Sif’s knock on the door had been more of a tap that night.  She had privately hoped the queen would not hear and she would be allowed to skip what would, doubtless, be a very uncomfortable session of small talk. 

She could be very stupid sometimes. 

Halfway through the first cup of tea and her dry account of her mother’s latest gossip, Frigga had interrupted her. 

“You are leaving tomorrow morning, is that right?”  The queen had said, perfectly casual. 

Sif had almost broken the fine bone china in her surprise. 

The queen had noticed with a smile.  “Do not be ridiculous, my girl.  I am not so blind as my son thinks.  He has a terrible face for lying.  Completely transparent.” 

Sif wondered if she was likely to be dragged to the dungeons in a moment.  Perhaps she should tuck a few of the small sandwiches into her belt bag.   

The queen seemed to see that, too.  “Now, do not worry yourself.  I will not give away your confidences.

“I cannot publically go against my husband the king’s wishes.  It is my duty as queen to support him.  But nor can I ignore this information.  That is my duty as a mother. 

“So you will tell me your plans so I may improve them.  And I will tell you a story, so you will be better informed in your quest.”

Sif had obeyed.  The queen had listened quietly, asking questions and shaping their plan from a meandering misadventure into a streamlined mission.  Sif could not help but think it was her first true look at the real queen.  Underneath her soft, mothering persona, she was impossibly sharp.  She asked intelligent questions, and all the changes she made were in the aid of simplifying the plan. That, paired with the ease with which she changed from her royal guise to what Sif was rapidly coming to know as the real queen, reminded Sif keenly of Loki. 

It was after they had fixed their plans that Frigga told her the story of Loki’s “adoption.”  Sif had noticed the focused way the queen regarded her, cataloguing every reaction to the news.  Had she thought Sif would turn on him in that moment?  Laufey was a monster, but Sif had known Loki since the cradle.   The queen seemed to see this, too.  After that revelation, they had said very little. 

Sif and the queen had sat, sipping their cold tea for a few minutes longer.  Sif left not long after that.

“You will return me my sons, Lady Sif,” the queen had said, her eyes sparking with an determined fire that was just as frightening as the Allfather’s disapproval.  “Both of them.  They are mine and I will not allow this to be the end.”

Sif bowed the warrior’s salute, feeling at home in the gesture for the first time in a very long time.  “Yes, my queen,” she said.  She would always accept that challenge.

That was why there was no question of whether they would leave things as they stood.  They could not leave things as they stood. 

Sif leaned next to Fandral on the wall of a cheap hotel in a tiny town in Germany and she knew she would not be leaving for quite a while now.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Natasha says in Russian: "Thank you" and "shit."
> 
> Fun fact: This chapter was about five hundred words longer, but I cut them out because they didn't fit the tone. So no dirty jokes for you. :(
> 
> Also, I may be overcompensating for the lack of Asgardians in this fic with a sudden deluge of Aesir angst. But it is in the service of backstory, so I am justified.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	22. Splinters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Peter have a conversation. Clint breaks some news.

Bruce was in the middle of extracting a six-inch splinter out of a digger’s arm when Peter came through the door.  The sudden noise startled him enough for him to move the splinter suddenly, eliciting a hiss from the digger.  Bruce glared at Peter in irritation.

“Dammit Peter, you can’t just slam in here when I’m operating,” He said, pulling away from the digger to give his eyes a break. 

“Sorry, Doc,” Peter said distractedly.  “Sorry, Henry.” 

The digger waved his uninjured arm in a forgiving manner.  “No problem, Pete.  I’ve had worse than this.”

Bruce huffed in agreement.  The diggers actually kept track of how many cave-ins they’d been caught in.  Bruce thought they might have some kind of wager on who could survive the most.  Henry was at the top of the list with nearly fifty.  This was not the first time he’d come to Bruce with a piece of support sticking out of him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Bruce went back to his work.  The problem with wood was that it was liable to break apart in the wound and the tiny splinters would get infected.  Bruce brought Selvig’s reading glasses—he’d kill for a real magnifying glass—closer to the wound. 

A few moments later he had the splinter out of Henry’s arm and in a tin bowl.  He carefully inspected the wound for any splinters he could have missed and, seeing none, began to clean the arm with alcohol and bandage it.

Peter seemed to think that was his cue to continue his interruption. He began rifling through the covers on the sick bed, lifting up the thin mattress to look underneath before moving on to the locker.  Bruce tried to ignore it.  He finished bandaging Henry’s arm. 

“It looks pretty good, but you’ll want to keep it clean, so no digging for at least a week.  And let me know if it starts swelling or—Peter!”

Peter had moved on from the locker to start searching the desk, pulling out all of Bruce’s scalpels, his Swiss army knife, even a fountain pen, and placing them in a knapsack over his shoulder. 

Bruce waved a hasty goodbye at Henry, who was more than willing to leave the Med-Bay without staying for the inevitable lecture. 

Peter had ignored Bruce and was now going through his med-bag, pulling out bandage scissors and putting them in his knapsack. 

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest.  “Peter, stop.  I need—“

“It’s the eighteenth tomorrow, Doc.”

Bruce leaned against the wall for a second.  “Ah.” 

Peter went back to the search and Bruce went to the basin to wash his hands. 

“You think it will be as bad as last year?”  Bruce asked, watching as Peter went through his shelves.

Peter shrugged.  “I don’t really want to take the chance, do you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Bruce replied.  He went to the trunk and pulled out another pocket knife.  He handed it over for Peter to tuck into his knapsack. 

Peter nodded to him in thanks.  He turned to leave, but Bruce forestalled him with a hand on his shoulder. 

The eighteenth of May last year had been one of the worst days since Bruce was captured.  They still weren’t entirely sure what exactly had happened on the eighteenth, but they were sure it was the day that had set him off, rather than anything else.  When he was lying in Bruce’s Med-Bay, stinking of whisky and with self-inflicted scratch marks all over himself, the only thing he muttered was something about the eighteenth of May. 

Bruce thought it was probably an anniversary of something, he couldn’t imagine what. 

“Did you find his stash?” Bruce asked after the Med-Bay was free of all sharp objects.

“I’ve hidden three bottles, but I’m sure he’s got more somewhere.”

Bruce nodded.  Last year, Loki had hidden himself away in his room and drank until he was a puddle of alcohol poisoning.  If Clint hadn’t needed to borrow some paper, he could have drowned in his own vomit.  Bruce was not anxious to repeat the experience. 

Peter was still shifting from foot to foot anxiously. 

“Something bothering you, Pete?” Bruce asked. 

“Clint told me he’s going to break some bad news with Loki.”

“Today?” Bruce asked in surprise.  That didn’t seem wise right before what was already a bad time. 

“It can’t really wait.  This year might be worse than last year.”

“Well, at least we know to expect it now.” 

Peter nodded, but still looked worried.  “Yeah, I guess.  I feel like we should be doing more.  There are just all these things coming all at once and as soon as we get done dealing with one problem five more pop up and now there’s this new problem and Loki’s going—“

“To be fine,” Bruce finished, setting his hands on Peter’s shoulders, stopping the increasingly frenzied rant. “Loki will be fine.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Loki, it’s that nothing truly defeats him, not even himself.”  He surveyed Peter critically.  “The best thing you can do for him is give him support, but not total support.  Loki has a tendency to blind himself with the worst possible outcome and it keeps him from finding a solution.  Keep your eye on the variables and let yourself think outside them.”

Peter nodded.  “I can do that.”

“Good.  You’ll be fine.  Now let’s see if we can find those other stashes.”

***

Clint found Loki after dinner the next day. He’d put off telling the lieutenant all day, but Natasha would kill him he if didn’t go through with it. 

Loki and Peter were in the Lieutenant’s room, going over Christmas trees.  Well, that’s what Clint called them. They were actually a runic code based on the phonetic alphabet of Asgard and a five by five grid of letters.  Clint called them Christmas trees mostly because it was easier than saying a-runic-code-based-on-the-phonetic-alphabet-of-Asgard and it annoyed Loki to no end.  Also, the “runes” looked like very crudely drawn Christmas trees. 

Loki was teaching Peter the delicate process of encoding and decoding using this cipher.  Clint was a bit surprised, considering that not even Natasha knew that cipher, so there was no one Peter could possibly be sending messages to, except for maybe Loki himself.

“Hey,” he said, sidling up behind the two of them.  “Can I have a word, Loki?”

 Loki seemed to see the seriousness on his face, because he nodded, closing the notebook.  “Parker, would you mind giving us a moment?  Apparently Barton and I have something to discuss.”

Peter looked from one to the other for a moment, then got up to leave.  He closed the door quietly. Clint opened his mouth to start, but Loki held up a hand. The Lieutenant crossed the room to open the door again. 

Peter was on the other side, obviously planning on snooping.  Loki said nothing, just looking at him until he walked away, shooting mutinous looks over his shoulder. 

Loki shut the door once Peter was about a hundred yards away and turned to Clint.  Something must have shown on his face, because Loki’s first words were, “Bad news, I see.  Should I fetch the vodka?”

Clint considered.  “No, but you might want it on hand for after. Why don’t you sit down?”

Loki narrowed his eyes, but obeyed, crossing to sit on the hard chair.  He gestured to the bunk, but Clint leaned against the closed door instead, blocking it.

Loki noticed the tactic and, while he didn’t fidget per se, there was an air of nervousness about him. 

“I will never forgive you if this is just you announcing your engagement to Natasha,” Loki muttered. 

Clint wanted to smile.  Wanted to let himself be diverted into jokes and hide behind quips. 

Instead, he answered.  “Thor’s in Hammelburg.”

Loki’s reaction made him glad he stood at the door.  The Lieutenant stood up suddenly, an expression of shock and—was that panic?—on his face. 

“What do you mean?” Loki demanded, staring at Clint fixedly.  “He cannot be here yet. It would have taken him over a month to get here from Asgard.  Explain.  Thoroughly.”

“They came into Natasha’s café the day before yesterday—“

“They?” Loki interrupted.  “He was not alone?  Who else?”

“Thor and three other men.  I didn’t get their names.”

“Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg?”

“Yeah, that sounds like it.  Also, a woman.  Sif.”

Loki’s intent gaze seemed to sharpen.  “Sif?  Sif is here?”

“Yeah.  She was who Natasha approached. She invited them to talk that night.  She explained why them being here could compromise your mission.  They still wanted to see you, so she explained...other reasons you might not want to see them.”

Loki began to pace, rubbing his head in thought.  He whipped around so fast it nearly startled Clint.  “How much do they know?  About me?”

“We’re not entirely sure.  Sif knew about your father—“

Loki hissed through his teeth, as if in pain. 

“See, I don’t get that.  She didn’t seem to mind that Laufey was your real dad.”

Loki’s face flashed a rage that Clint had never seen in the Lieutenant.  “Keep your voice down!” he snapped.  He seemed to get a hold on himself a second later and continued in a lower tone.  “There are a variety of reasons that I would like my ancestry to remain a secret.  Not the least is that Laufey was a monster, but more pressing, you are forgetting the opposite end of my parentage.”

Clint’s confusion must have showed, because Loki rolled his eyes.  “My mother?” He said.  Clint still didn’t understand.  Loki continued, “You may have noticed that there are no POWs of Jewish descent in this camp.  That is because they were taken away. To where, I am not certain.  If it were known that I am not actually the Allfather’s son and therefore without his protection, not to mention half-Jewish, what do you think would happen to me?”

“You don’t think your dad would continue to protect you?”

Loki waved the question aside, rubbing his face.  He seemed a bit calmer after his outburst. “Is it just Sif who knows?”

Clint shrugged.  “We’re not sure.  She was alone with Natasha and I when she said it.  The first time they spoke, with Thor as well, she pretended she didn’t know.  Natasha isn’t sure if that was to gauge what Natasha knows or to keep it from Thor.”

“If Sif knows, Thor knows.  And if Thor knows, the Wankers Three know,” Loki said decisively.  He was pacing again, his folded hand pressed to his mouth.  “Natasha’s first theory is most likely.  What else?”

“Thor thought at first it would be alright if he just dressed like an ordinary soldier and got captured.  That way he wouldn’t alert the Kommandant.  I think Natasha managed to talk him out of it.”

Loki rolled his eyes at that.  “As if the Germans would not recognize him.  Thor underestimates his own fame.”

“Nobody else has recognized him yet, at least not that we know of,” Clint pointed out.

“Someone will.  Asgard is small, but her position is one of great power.  Thor is well known as her crown prince; he will not go unnoticed for long.”

“Thor said he’d think about leaving, but he wouldn’t promise anything.  Sif came back alone after that.  They seemed reluctant to leave without seeing you.  That was about it.”

Loki sighed and sat down on the bunk, pressing his face into his hands.  “Will they leave?”  It sounded so defeated that Clint wished he could lie.

Clint took a step away from the door to sit at the chair Loki had vacated.  “I don’t know, Loki.  Right now the odds are about even.  But Natasha doesn’t seem to think your brother would go to all the trouble of finding you just to leave without even seeing you.”

Loki was shaking his head.  “I will not see Thor.  I cannot.”

Loki stood suddenly.  Clint regretted not staying at the door.  He grabbed Loki’s wrist.  “Where are you going?”

“I cannot stay,” Loki said, eyes wild. “I will not stay.”  He jerked his wrist hard enough that Clint fell out of the chair, releasing the Lieutenant’s arm.   

Loki darted towards the door, but stopped suddenly when it opened and Peter stepped through. 

Something odd happened to Loki.  He seemed to reel back, stepping further away from the door, turning so he wasn’t facing Peter. 

As a consequence, he was facing Clint and Clint could see him rapidly trying to put himself together.  He smoothed his palms over this jacket, and regained his composure. 

“You eavesdropped,” Loki said as soon as he was back in control.  “Well done.”

Peter seemed to be willing to give his mentor some space.  He stood in the doorway a few moments before entering.  “You taught me well,” he said with a little smile. 

Clint levered himself up off the floor and righted the chair.  Loki sat back on the bunk and put his head in his hands.   Peter stood in front of him. 

Loki spoke first.  “How much did you hear?”

Peter shrugged.  “All of it.”  He turned and sat beside Loki.  Clint sat down again as well.

Here was silence for a few moments.  Then Peter spoke.  “You can’t see Thor, right?”

Loki looked up from his hands with a wry little smile.  “Pathetic, I know, but—“

Peter ignored him.  “Could you see one of the others instead?  Then you won’t have to see him, but he’ll know you’re alright and be able to leave.”

Loki lowered his face again.  “I do not know.  Perhaps.”

“Well, think about it.  You’re always telling me that the only reliable negotiation technique is compromise.  And we could come with you.  You wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I do not require chaperones,” Loki said into his hands.

“No, but you could use some friends, I think.”

Loki lifted his head enough to look at Peter.  It was an utterly blank look, the kind that, if Clint were watching Natasha, he would say was disguising something she felt because she perceived it as a vulnerability. 

“You are not wrong, Peter,” Loki said.

Clint cleared his throat.  “Alright, girls, let’s focus on the mission, yeah?”

Peter gave an awkward little chuckle and Loki looked less likely to fall apart.  Clint counted that as a win. 

Loki looked from Clint to Peter and back again.  “You may tell the Lady Sif I will meet with her alone.  And I will have Thor’s oath he will not interrupt before this is set in stone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that this is simultaneously getting both more difficult and more fun to write? Is that normal?
> 
> Sorry for the random bits of cipher trivia in the middle. I'm reading a bunch of books on codes and ciphers (because I am a nerd) and this one was mentioned as being originally a Norse sailor one and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	23. A Conversation with Sif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sif have their little talk. Peter gets a cameo.

Sif hesitated outside the apartment, running her hands over her dress.  In the interests of blending in, she had forgone her uniform for something a bit less formal.  She had found a soft cotton dress in a shop just before crossing the border and snuck in while the boys where drinking.  The dress was colorful and pretty and it made her look like a different person, but she could not help but feel naked without the scratchy wool and starched linen. 

She knocked on the door to Natasha’s apartment.  Natasha herself had already gone to the hotel.  It was another of Loki’s provisions.  Natasha was to stay in the hotel with the others while Loki and Sif met.  It made the boys nervous.  They thought it sounded like a trap.  Sif thought it sounded like Loki.

Sif heard footsteps approaching the door and straightened herself to attention.  But it was not Loki who answered the door.  A young man with tousled brown hair stood aside to let Sif into the small flat. 

“Thank you, Peter,” Loki’s voice came from the rocker.  Sif felt her heartbeat speed up.  She had not really doubted it was Loki, not since she met Natasha and Barton, but not doubting and truly knowing were two very different experiences. 

“No problem, boss,” The young man said.  He shot Sif a speaking look as he left to stand in the hallway outside the apartment.  He closed the door behind him. 

Sif surveyed Loki as she stepped closer.  He was too skinny.  He had been thin before…before everything, but now he looked like a stiff wind could knock him over.  And he had cut his hair.  It was traditional for members of the aristocracy to wear their hair longer while peasants cut theirs, but the British army probably had rules for hair length, Sif supposed.  It made him look older, she thought.  Or perhaps it was just the time that did that.

He looked like a different person with his short hair and his threadbare but tidy uniform and his too-sharp face.  He looked like the British spy he was supposed to be now.

He was surveying her as well.  She saw him take in her dress and makeup.  The curls in her hair.  She wondered if he thought her just as changed as she thought him. 

“Hello,” she said finally. 

Loki’s mouth did a little twitch that seemed to be an attempt at smiling.  “Hello,” he said, voice a little rusty.  He cleared his throat.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

Sif smiled as much as she could and sat on the sofa across from him.  She pretended not to notice the way he repositioned his body, as if to protect himself from her presence. 

Now that Sif was closer she could see where he had repaired his uniform with small, even stitches, as his mother had taught him.  It was a strange juxtaposition with the weapons she could see through his clothes.  A knife in a sheath on his ankle.  Another two up his sleeves.  The half-empty vodka bottle on the floor did not escape her notice, either.

Sif situated herself comfortably on the sofa.  He was like a ghost, or some sort of doppelganger, an alternate version of the man with whom she had grown up.  Thor had given her a list of questions to ask, but she found herself incapable of doing anything besides looking at him mutely. 

It was Loki who broke the silence. 

“I will not leave with you.”

He was looking at the ground, rather than her.  Glaring at it, in fact, his jaw squared and his brows furrowed. 

He had not looked at her since she had walked in and he gave her the cursory glance that took in all her changes.  He really was vexed, she thought. Scared, even.  Of her.  Certain that she would contest him, perhaps drag him back to Asgard in chains. 

It saddened her to see him like this.  Cornered like an animal. 

“Alright,” she said after a moment.

He looked up at that.  “What?” 

“Alright.  I will not ask you to leave.”

Loki frowned at Sif, but at least he was looking at her. “That is all you needed?”

Sif settled back in the sofa.  “Yes,” she said.   

There were a few moments of silence. 

“Perhaps we should part, then,” Loki said.  He was not looking at her anymore.

“I do not know.  I have travelled this far.  We could have a conversation.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed.  “You are trying something.  You should not.  I know all your tricks.”

Sif laughed.  It sounded forced even to her own ears.  “You taught me all my tricks.”

“Yes.” Loki said.  “I did.”

Sif sat forward.  “Loki, I will not force you to return to Asgard.  I do not think I could if I tried.”

She let the statement sit for a few moments.  “I am curious about your exploits.  You are, possibly, curious about Asgard.  We could speak on it.”

“And at the end of the conversation, what will happen?  You will return to Asgard empty handed?  Thor will meekly follow?”

“I cannot say, Loki.  I speak only for myself.  I have said my piece on that subject.”

There was again a spell of silence. Sif held her breath through it.  It was not truly a trick.  She just needed him to speak. It seemed it was not enough for her to see him, at least not this changed version of him.  She needed more.  His voice had not changed at all. 

Sif was just about to give up, sure that he would remain silent and unreachable, when he asked, “How is Sleipnir?”

Sif smiled, trying not to feel triumphant.  It wasn’t a triumph, him talking about a favorite pet, but it was a step in the right direction. 

Sleipnir was Loki’s favorite horse.   The prince had always loved animals, spending hours in the stables and kennels.  He had been in the stable when Sleipnir’s dam had died delivering him.  The foal had imprinted on Loki, and the two had been nearly inseparable.  When Loki went abroad to school, they both had been brokenhearted.  Almost the entirety of Loki’s letters home was devoted to questions about Sleipnir, and when he was home on holiday, Loki would spend hours with the animal.

A status report on a horse would seem small, but Sif was hopeful. 

“He is well.  The queen makes sure he gets his daily run.  He bucks anyone but her.” 

Loki nodded.  “He is well taken care of?”

“He has always been the grooms’ favorite.  He only misses you.”

Loki shot her a look, and she held up her hands.  “It is only the truth.  I meant no manipulation.”

It seemed to set Loki at peace. 

“That young man who answered the door.  He is another of your recruits?”  She ventured. 

“His name is Peter.  He is something of a protégé.”

“You are teaching him politics?” she asked, puzzled.  Who needed politics in a prison camp?

Loki chuckled.  “Something like that.”

A lapse of silence and then, “How is Jorgumandr?”

Sif resisted sighing.  “Your snake is fine.  As is the pup, to spare you the next question.”

That startled a small smile out of Loki. 

“You are…content to stay here?”  Sif asked.  Loki gave her a look, and she clarified.  “I mean that you prefer the company here, rather than…”

“Yes,” Loki said, and it hurt more than she was expecting, and she knew she should be glad for him, but it still hurt.  “I am better here, I think.  I have people here that are truly my people, not on loan.” 

It was a dart that hit her hard in the ribs, but he did not savor the shot.  Almost immediately Loki asked, “How much do they hate me?”

Sif did not have to ask who he meant.  She had expected this, and guilt filled her with the confirmation.  “They do not hate you, Loki,” She said softly.  “In fact, they love you very much.”

Loki scoffed, but she could see a spark of hope there. 

“Birth is not everything, Loki.”

“No, but it is something,” Loki said, suddenly viciously angry.  “Did he tell you everything?  I am sure he told you that I am a monster’s unwanted spawn, but did he tell you that I was nothing more than a bargaining chip held over Laufey until he could no longer be swayed?  Did he tell you that even Laufey did not want me?   That I was too gruesome even for monsters, and they left me to die in the snow?  Did he tell you that?”

There were tears in his eyes and he dashed them away angrily. 

“Your mother,” Loki breathed in on that, almost a gasp.  She wondered if he would protest the name, and continued before he had the chance. 

“Your mother told me you were born the son of a soldier and a poor girl,” Sif said quietly.  “She said the moment the Allfather put you in her arms and she knew you were hers.  She said as you grew up, she knew more and more that you were more her son than even Thor was, at least in mind and heart.  She told me that Laufey stopped heeding the letters the moment he realized that to reveal your parentage, the Allfather would have to publically disown you.  And he knew the Allfather would not because your mother would not allow him to do so.   Your mother sent me into Germany with one of her sons and bid me return with two.  That is what they told me.”

Loki seemed to have sunk in on himself, folding up in his chair and staring at the ground. 

She paused a moment before asking, “Is that why you jumped?”

Loki’s voice was flat and emotionless when he answered.  “I jumped because there was nothing else for me.  I was no longer a son, a brother, or even a prince. I could never regain what I had lost.  I never truly had it to begin with.  I was nothing but a babe who should never have lived to his first year.”

“You did not think we would care?”

“It is not your turn,” Loki said.

Sif nodded.  “As you say.”

Loki took a deep breath and looking around the room, as if casting about for something, anything to say.  “You said mother tasked you with bringing me home.  You will disappoint her?”

“I suppose so.  I have a letter from her for you.  I am sure she would be pleased to correspond with you.  That might gain me a reprieve.”

“And the Allfather?”

“I do not know, Loki.  He did not wish for us to come, but I do not know whether it is purely the thought that the line of succession is in danger with Thor afield in a warzone, or that he disbelieved the rumors.  I do not think it was a hatred of you.”

She did not give him long to brood on that before asking, “Natasha.  She is what to you?”

Loki looked up, confused.  “A friend.  A comrade.  Much like you are to Thor.”

“Nothing more?”

“She is courting Barton.  I believe you met.”

“Ah.  Yes.”

Loki looked up tiredly.  “Why would you come here?  Surely it would have been better to stay in Asgard.  I know you love war, but this is not one you are fighting.  Thor would not have objected, Mother would have understood.  Why did you join this fool’s errand?  Why did you come here, Sif?” He asked in a defeated tone that scared her more than the defensiveness, the anger, the emotionlessness combined. 

Sif wondered if lying would be kinder.  She could easily say that it was her loyalty to Thor that brought her to Germany, that it was her duty to the queen, even her obligation as a citizen as Asgard.  She had no doubt that Loki would accept all of these reasons.  After all, he had in the past.  But she could not do it this time. Not when she had spent nearly a year believing him dead and nearly a month hoping. 

So she leaned forward slowly and kissed Loki gently on the lips. His eyes slipped shut and when she leaned back they were still closed.  She put her hand on his cheek. “Oh, Loki.  Where else would I be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me!


	24. While You Were Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif gets Loki into bed (not that way, sorry) and Peter hears more about his mentor.

Peter checked his watch again.  It was nearly midnight and Loki was still in the apartment with Sif.  Peter wasn’t really worried, Loki could handle himself, but, okay, maybe Peter was worried.  Loki’s Asgardian past was a minefield of danger, and Peter had no doubt that sitting in a room with someone from that past would set off more than one.  Not to mention the fact that Loki had spent the last twenty four hours alternately drinking, scheming, and not sleeping.  The man was a mess.

He checked his watch again.  Loki would forgive him for interrupting, he decided.  After all, one of the first lessons Loki had taught him was that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. 

Peter turned the doorknob and opened the door silently. 

Loki had been in the rocking chair facing the door when Peter had left, and the first thing Peter noticed when he opened the door was that the rocking chair was empty.  He panicked for a moment, thinking maybe Sif had broken her word and kidnapped Loki, but then caught sight of a light in the bedroom.  Peter moved further into the apartment and opened the bedroom door. 

They were in the bed, Sif sitting upright against the headboard and Loki lying beside her.  He was on his side facing her, one arm slung around her waist and his face pressed into the seam between her hip and the quilt.  Peter could tell from his deep breathing that the Lieutenant was asleep. 

Sif turned her head to see him enter, but didn’t make a sound.

She reached up a hand from the book she’d been reading—the other was carefully rubbing circles into Loki’s back—and pressed a finger to her lips.  She smiled and beckoned him in. 

Peter tiptoed into the room to lean on the dresser.

They sat quietly for a few moments. 

“I always forget how different he looks when he is asleep,” Sif said in a low voice.  “It is like seeing him become a child again.”

Peter knew what she meant.  The first time he’d found Loki asleep in his bunk, he’d been amazed at the change sleep made in the man.  He looked so at peace it made Peter wonder how much at war Loki was when he was awake. 

Peter nodded silently.  Sif looked up at him. 

“I understand you are his protégé?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said.  Loki had never really come out and said that, always referring to Peter as an assistant or subordinate, but he’d sort of known it was a bit different.  It was nice to know Loki had introduced him as a protégé, though.

Sif seemed to see that on his face.  “He did not tell you,” she said.  It was not a question.  “He often does not.  He sees through so many mysteries he often forgets others must have things spelled out.”

Peter looked at the two of them.  He’d never seen Loki so relaxed around another person.  Not even Natasha, and they were best friends.  “Are you,” he started, but then changed his mind.  “Who are you?”

She seemed amused.  “I am the Lady Sif Eirsdottir,” she said. 

“You know what I mean.”

Sif smiled.  It looked a bit sad.  “I do,” she said.  She carefully readjusted herself, mindful of the still-sleeping Loki.  “I am not entirely sure how to answer, however.”

“You’re…” Peter hesitated.  He couldn’t say dating, could he?  And it was just odd referring to her as anyone’s girlfriend.  Or, for that matter, referring to Loki as someone’ boyfriend.  “You’re old friends?” he finished lamely. 

She chuckled, but then seemed to sober.  Peter noticed that Loki had taken off his jacket and his sleeves were rolled up.  It left his wrists—and his scars—visible.  “Yes, that too.  It is a complicated relationship that Loki and I share.  To define it, I would have to tell you the whole story, but I do not think we have the time for that.”

“How about you just tell me the high points?” Peter asked.  He couldn’t deny that he was incredibly curious about his mentor’s past.  Not to mention the fact that Sif and Loki were…romantically linked, and Loki had never mentioned anyone in that way.  Peter had been beginning to wonder if Loki was interested in anyone or anything.

Sif settled herself further into the bed.  Loki murmured something in his sleep but did not wake. 

“Alright,” she said after a pause.  “Loki, Thor, and I grew up together.  You see, my family is such that, politically, we could either be a great ally or a terrible foe to the royal family.  The king obviously preferred the former, and wished to cement it with a marriage.  I was the obvious choice, and was thus brought to court earlier than was strictly proper at age five, and when I was twelve, I was betrothed to Thor.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose.  Not exactly the beginning he was expecting.  Sif smiled knowingly and continued.  “The only issue with this plan was the people involved.  I was not interested in the womanly arts, having decided I would make my living as a warrior and soldier.  Being queen would only chain me to a life of social and political obligation that I, in my very nature, could not endure.  Furthermore, Thor had grown to see me as a sister, and was in no way interested in a romantic relationship.  This culminated on my sixteenth birthday when I signed my enlistment papers and to join the army. 

“Of course, this meant next to nothing to a family like mine.  They simply did away with the papers and forbid me from leaving the palace, certain I would come around eventually. 

“Loki, up until this point, had been little more to me than Thor’s bothersome brother.  We had little in common—I was always sneaking into the weapons lessons and he was always sneaking out of them.  So I was incredibly surprised when he was my first visitors to my chambers was Loki.  He smuggled in a sword so I could continue my training. 

“He visited me almost every day, listening as I ranted about how unfair it was, how helpless I felt.  He was the only person I felt I could tell such things.  Thor, I was sure, would see me as a complaining maiden wishing to become one of the men, but Loki saw for what I was. Finally, he told me if my convictions were true, then I had to take them to their full extent.  He helped me shear off my hair so it was as short as a peasant boy’s, and we snuck out of the palace to a tavern, where Loki had set up a meeting with a journalist.”

Peter grinned.  He could see where this was going.  Sif noticed.  “You seem to understand, but I had no idea how a reporter could help my predicament.

“We, well, Loki, told him that, as tribute to my brothers who died in the war, I was taking their place in the Asgardian army.  We told him that my family approved, and sent me to the palace to obtain the same training that the princes received.  He printed it in the Sunday paper.  A wonderful article praising my family’s dedication to Asgard, and the example I set for the modern Asgardian woman.

“My family was livid, of course, but they could not contradict the press without negating all their praise and showing that they had lost control of their own people.  They were forced to go along with it, sending me to all the finest military tutors and training.  I was finally allowed to do exactly what I wanted. 

“The only problem was that I was suddenly aware that my relationship with Loki had changed.  We were no longer just acquaintances, or even friends.  I could look back over our time together and see signs that he had had a certain affection for me from the start.  I just had not noticed. 

“We got closer, but all too soon, rumors began to circulate that we were courting.  The rumors gave way to another headline in the papers speculating whether I would leave the army to marry him.  We had used the press as a sword against my family, but it could be just as easily weilded against us.  By this time I was up for Captain of the Guard, the highest rank a woman had ever achieved, and the press thought I would give it up for a wedding.  I could not have the army doubting my resolve. 

“Loki understood.  We continued to see each other every so often, discreetly, of course.  But after a certain time I began to wonder if I was being unkind to him.  I could not marry, else my superiors begin to suspect I would want children, and dismiss me to do so.  I believed it unfair to keep him to myself when he would obviously want something more. 

“The result of our more permanent fissure was messy to say the least.  He saw it as me choosing Thor over him, as so many had before.  Thor was my friend and a comrade in arms and I spent a great deal of time with him, more than I did with Loki, so I can now see where he got this idea.

“Terrible things were said on both sides of the conflict, but I have no doubt we would have mended it had his parents not intervened. 

“They had him betrothed to another woman.  This, I think was what truly angered me.  Sigyn is, quite frankly, the perfect Asgardian woman.  She is beautiful, loyal, and steadfast.  She paid attention to all the lessons I forsook when I was fighting.  She would be a wonderful wife, a devoted mother, and a very capable head of a prince’s household.  She was my opposite in so many ways and it was a brand to my chest seeing her with him, not only because I was unfairly jealous, but because I knew she would not make him happy.

“I know this seems egotistical, but he would loathe living with her.  She was so demure, so completely devoted to propriety, that she would never challenge him, never tell him when he was making a mistake.  And that, I am sure you know, is something Loki dearly needs once in while.  I have no idea what Frigga and the Allfather were thinking making such a match, but I now believe Frigga at least meant it as an incentive for Loki and I to make amends. 

“Unfortunately, we are both much to stubborn for such things.  He agreed to the marriage—mostly, I believe to hurt me—and they were engaged a few years before he left for university.

“Whenever he returned, on breaks and holidays, we were horrible to one another.  Loki flaunted his engagement with poor Sigyn, and I am ashamed to say I paraded my associations with Thor, even going so far as to spread rumors that we had a more intimate relationship than actually existed.”

Sif paused, looking down at Loki.  He was still asleep, it seemed.  Her hand seemed to have unconsciously moved from Loki’s back to his wrist, and she was running her fingers down the scars as if she could rub them away.

“I have wondered many times if I had not been so petty, and stubborn, and hurtful, he might have felt he could come to me.  Even though we were not so close.  Perhaps he would have thought there was another option, rather than…”

She pulled her hand away from Loki’s wrist.  Peter could see tears in her eyes, but they didn’t fall.  Sif ran a hand over her forehead and smiled unhappily.  “I should simply be happy that he is alive and well and he has you and Natasha here for him.  You have done what I have failed to, and I am so, so grateful for you.  But if I could somehow change the past I would in a heartbeat.”

Peter looked at her.  He knew he was biased.  It was difficult to look at this woman as anything other than the person who broke his…friend’s heart.  He couldn’t help but hate her in a tiny tiny part of his mind that would never forget that she could have saved him and she hadn’t. 

But Peter thought about that.  If he could change Loki’s past, what would he do?  What if Sif had been more understanding and Loki hadn’t gone off the rails and never met Peter or Natasha or even Clint?  Peter found he couldn’t agree with Sif. If she had been there for him, what next?  Loki couldn’t subsist in that hostile environment just for one friendly face.  He might have died trying for Sif.  He would suffocate in Asgard, even quicker when he had the issue of his parentage tearing away at him.  No, Loki had to get out. 

He would rather Loki never have felt so entirely alone that he would try and take his own life, but he would have Loki leave Asgard and Sif and his family anyway.  Loki was better away from them all.

And he couldn’t help but wonder what this all meant.  Loki and Sif obviously cared for one another now, but would Sif leave Asgard and stay with Loki?  Would she leave everything she’d worked and sacrificed for? Because Loki wouldn’t go back to that place, not if Peter had anything to do with it.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Loki still sleeping between them.  "Will you try to take him back there?"  Peter asked after a few moments.  

Sif didn't answer for a few moments.  "I will try to do what is best for him.  And I do not believe taking him back would be good for him now."

"But it might be later?"  Peter asked.

"I cannot say."  Sif said. 

_Well,_ Peter decided.  _T_ _hat's good enough for now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm glad you guys liked (or at least didn't mind terribly) that Loki and Sif have something of a something going on. I thought I'd give you all a little backstory on that and it got crazy out of hand. It was just going to be half the chapter, while we find out what's going on with Natasha and Thor, but then there was angst, and some justification for various actions, and questions about the repercussions of those actions, and angsting about exposition through dialogue, and trying to keep track of what each character knows versus what I know (or think I know). 
> 
> Okay, whining over (really they should just rename this section "Writer Whinging" and just delete whatever you type here) thanks again for putting up with it. :)


	25. At the Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha talks to the Warriors Three.

Natasha arrived at the hotel lobby to find the four Asgardian men waiting for her.  Thor seemed withdrawn while the others seemed cheerful (Volstagg and Fandral), or, alternatively, grim (Hogun).  She frowned at them. 

“We were to wait in the hotel room,” she said carefully, leaning for weight forward, on the balls of her feet.  She didn’t think they would attack, but she would be prepared for one. 

The mustached one—Fandral—smiled and waved.  “My apologies.  Thor was getting restless, so we thought we would go out to the grounds and spar, lest the entire contents of the room end up broken.”

“I am not so bad, my friend,” grumbled the prince himself.  Fandral looked skeptical, so he amended, “At least not when I am sober.”

Their laughs allowed Natasha to relax her guard slightly.  She smiled one of her better fake smiles and joined them as they walked towards the hotel’s sprawling grounds. 

It was a beautiful spring night, and the grounds were still dotted with people out enjoying the warm breeze.  Natasha wondered if the Asgardians were truly stupid enough to spar in plain sight.  Someone would surely spot their fighting style and report them.  She was just about to ask how they could be so daft—more politely, of course—when Volstagg stopped by a gate in the tall wall that surrounded the grounds.  He reached inside his jacket for a key and let them into a small enclosed yard. 

Volstagg smiled when he saw her looking.  “We bribed the concierge,” he said jauntily.  “He said it was originally to be a vegetable garden for the kitchens, but the soil was bad.  It is just used for storage during the winter, now, so we should have it to ourselves.”

Natasha nodded, touching her knife reassuringly.  But the four men only moved to the center of the yard to begin stretching.  Natasha chose not to join them, instead leaning against the wall. 

After a few minutes of stretching, Thor and the quietest man—and thus the one that made Natasha most wary—paired off to spar.  They limited themselves to unarmed combat and began to circle slowly. 

By the time the two fighters had begun to throw tentative blows, the Fandral had come to the wall to stand beside Natasha, while Volstagg departed to find “refreshments.”  She kept her eyes on the prince and his opponent.  Fandral would speak if he wanted to.

After a few minutes Fandral moved himself into her line of sight, blocking the fight from her eyes. 

“We should talk,” he said.  She turned her head just the slightest increment to look at him fully for the first time since the fight began.  He looked very serious, miles away from the cheerful companion he had seemed when she first came to the hotel. 

“That might be best,” she allowed.  The change in demeanor was interesting.  Loki’s report on the Warriors Three had given a basic background as well as his overarching opinion of the group.  According to him, they were completely incapable of subtlety and subterfuge, and they lacked not only foresight, but the ability to plan, account for difficulties, or really do anything besides sycophantically trail behind Thor in his exploits.   

She was beginning to suspect there was more to the three men than that.  The fact that they knew to get Thor out of the hotel, and to hide their sparring suggested to her that they knew at least enough to account for their friend’s temper while they respected the need for covertness while they were in Germany. They’d not only identified the likely outcome, but found a solution.  That was more than Loki had given them credit for. 

Of course, Sif could have suggested it before she left, Natasha thought.

“It _is_ Loki?” Fandral said.  He was looking at her very closely, trying to see any tells, she thought.  “That is who Sif is meeting tonight?”

“Yes,” Natasha said steadily.  “It’s him.”

Fandral still didn’t look convinced.  “But…” he trailed off and started again.  “I realize he had a difficult time of it.  His father…he had a difficult time of it.  But he could not possibly have wanted us all to believe him dead.  He has to want to return.”  He ended each sentence with inquisitive inflection, all the while looking at Natasha for any sign of confirmation. 

Natasha said nothing. 

“What I mean to say is, he cannot be happy here.”  Again it was more question than statement.  Natasha allowed herself to raise an eyebrow.

Fandral moved until he was leaning his shoulder against the wall next to her, still searching her face for answers.  “I do not understand,” he said after a moment.  “He left everything behind.  How could he be happy?”

Finally Natasha spoke.  “There was little enough left for him.  He got a clean start.  That’s what he needed.”

“He was mourned,” he said.  “Surely he did not want them to believe he was gone forever.”

“That’s what made it a clean break,” Natasha said with a sigh.  “Otherwise he would never have gotten away.”

“But—“

“Fandral!” Thor shouted.  Natasha turned to see Hogun on the ground with Thor standing above him.  Hogun didn’t seem to be injured—just winded—but he also didn’t seem keen on continuing the fight.

“I seem to require another sparring partner!” Thor said.  He looked rather more jovial than he had in the lobby.  It seemed the Warriors Three’s plan to diffuse their friend’s temper was coming along nicely. 

Fandral smiled and nodded, sparing a glance for Natasha that said, clearly, that he would prefer to continue their conversation.  Nevertheless, he did a few stretches and walked out to join Thor in their impromptu field of contest.

Volstagg had returned with a hamper of what looked like crackers, cheese, and bologna as well as a few bottles of wine.  He and Hogun had set them on a small table in one of the corners.  The larger man was still unloading the seemingly unending contents of the hamper onto the table when Hogun broke away to take Fandral’s vacated spot. 

They stood silently for a few moments, watching Fandral and Thor.  Natasha had noticed that Thor and Hogun had very different fighting styles.  As she watched Fandral and Thor, this became even more obvious.  The two fighters had almost identical styles, and had probably been trained by the same tutor, at least in the same discipline, while Hogun probably had trained elsewhere, likely the East by the style.

Fandral landed a blow on Thor’s shoulder and Hogun spoke.  “There is his mistake,” he said quietly.  “See how he makes contact and grows too confident?  It is his way in everything.  He makes the first move and believes himself to already have won.  It does him no favors.”

Fandral tried a jab at Thor’s face, but the prince dodged and danced back.  Natasha saw a smile flit across Fandral’s face at that.  He thought he had the prince on the ropes, but she could see Thor’s mind working.

“You see it, I am sure.  How he is watching Thor’s moves, and not his mind.  He should know better, but,” Hogun turned his head to look at her for the first time.  “He is never looking in the right direction.”

Fandral had backed Thor into a corner and, believing he had him trapped, swung too wide, leaving an opening in his guard.  Thor took it.

“He should not be asking if it is truly Loki,” Hogun continued.  “If it were not Loki, Sif would have already returned to kill you.  He should not be asking why Loki would not wish to return.  That is far too obvious for those of us with eyes.  No, he is looking in the wrong places, asking the wrong questions.”

“What should he be asking?” Natasha asked.  She was beginning to quite like the quiet man in front of her.  He was entirely too honest for her, but he did _see_ things. 

“He should be asking how we will please four different masters,” Hogun said, looking back at the fight.  Fandral was just holding barely holding off Thor’s punches and finding himself backed into the same corner.  “Our king did not wish us here, while our crown prince urged us to accompany him.  Our queen bids us bring her son back while our second prince wishes to stay.  We are duty-bound to all and thus beholden to impossibility.  That is never a good situation, I am sure you agree.”

Natasha did agree.  Situations like these were the kind that no one could foresee.  There were too many possibilities, too many factors to take into account.

“I would say the only way to predict the outcome would be to be sure of the loyalties of those involved,” Natasha said carefully.

Hogun shrugged.  “Even that is a gamble,” he said.  “I do not see you as the gambling type, Miss Romanova.  No, I have a feeling you are the type to like definite outcomes.”  Hogun pushed away from the wall and began walking back towards Volstagg and his table. 

In the sparring ground, Thor wrestled Fandral into a headlock until he ceded the fight.

***

After Thor worked out his tension in the fights and the five of them ate Volstagg’s picnic, they retreated back inside the hotel.  Natasha was not particularly surprised to see that Sif still had not returned from her meeting with Loki.  She only hoped that Peter was wise enough to get them back into camp in time for the morning roll call. 

Thor was calmer after the sparring.  He sat in on of the armchairs in their suite, swigging a bottle of wine and watching Natasha out of the corners of his eyes.  It took him longer than she would have guessed for him to dismiss the Warriors Three from the room so he could speak to her himself.

“I spoke unkindly to you before,” The prince started.  “I apologize.”

She nodded her acceptance and he went on.  “I do not understand my brother.  I willingly admit that.  But I do love him.  There is nothing that can change that, not even the truth of his birth.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.  “I wasn’t sure you were aware of that,” she said.

Thor snorted.  “It was the first thing my father told me when I demanded we find him,” he said disgustedly.  “He seemed so assured that it would change my mind that I barely had to lie.  I just waited and planned.”

He chuckled.  “Not well, of course.  That was always Loki’s job.  He always made the plans, though we rarely followed them and he got no thanks for his work.”  Thor sobered.  “I was not everything I should have been to my brother.  I know that.  But as he got his second chance, I wish to have mine.”

“They may be mutually exclusive,” Natasha warned. 

“I am aware.  I wish to have a chance, though.”  Thor’s eyes were wide and full of a childish hope.  Natasha wondered if he truly was so naïve, or if this was some kind of manipulation. 

“What kind of chance?” she asked. 

“I would have you deliver a letter explaining myself to him.”

“And then you’ll leave?”

Thor sighed and rubbed his face.  “I will speak to Sif before I decide that.  But in the mean time I would like to have some communication between us.”

Natasha considered.  All things being equal, it was just as likely Loki would burn the letter on sight as it was he would actually read it.  She wasn’t entirely sure which was the healthier reaction.

“I’ll take him the letter, but I won’t make him read it.”

Thor smiled and it was like the sun breaking through clouds.  Natasha could see why an entire country had fallen in love with the man. 

“That is all I ask, Lady Natasha,” Thor said. “That is all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	26. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wakes up, Peter is still a teenager, and Steve is brought up to speed.

Loki woke slowly, aware that he was somewhere he should not be.   He knew he should be in his lumpy cot in his drafty hut, listening to the sounds of reveille.  Instead, he was pressed against someone warm and soft and the only sound was the gentle whoosh of breath.  He allowed himself a moment of unthinking comfort before the truth sank in.  Then he remembered the many reasons he could not be here.

He slowly sat up, extricating himself from Sif’s sleeping body and sitting on the edge of the bed.

When he had gone to sleep—and he had not truly meant to, she just suggested they sit on the bed and he had been too tired to explain the many reasons that was a bad idea—but when he had fallen asleep, she had been sitting against the headboard, pretending not to notice as his eyelids drooped and he slid down the mattress until he was sleeping with his face pressed into her side so all he could see or smell was her.

He had not wanted to take off his jacket either, or roll up his sleeves, or take off his tie.  Of course, Sif had not even asked; she just stripped the clothing off him with a ruthless efficiency that belied any embarrassment he might have felt.  He was simply grateful she had not taken the shirt as well.  She had not said anything about the scars on his wrists, but he doubted the ones on his back could be ignored so easily.

Loki looked down at Sif, still sleeping on top of the quilt.  She was sprawled out on the bed, her head tipped back against the wallpaper, hair a straggly halo around her head, and her mouth slightly open.  He felt a smile tugging at his mouth and turned away slightly to look out the window. 

This was not good.  He could not begin to rely on things like this. He could not allow himself to sink into the complacency of trusting another human being.  To borrow one of Barton’s turns of phrase, that would only bite him in the ass one day. 

Loki had not let himself think about Sif since he left Asgard.  She had been the first person—only person—he had really cared about outside his family.  Knowing that she might be carrying on as if he had never existed, perhaps marrying Thor, perhaps striking up a romance with one of the Warriors Three—it would be Fandral, he thought when he could not stop himself—just gave him a hollow feeling between his ribs.    

It was frightening how happy he had been when she had come through the door.  It was even more frightening how relieved he had been when she had not been angry at him—he had been expecting that, though whether he thought she would be angry about Sigyn or his suicide attempts, he was not sure.  It was dangerous, this happiness, this relief.  There had been years—and years, and years—when he would do anything for her and he knew that she need only say the word and he would abandon everything he had built in Germany and follow her like a good little lamb, even if it lead to slaughter.

It was frightening, but it was not surprising.  Loki had only ever had eyes for Sif.  She was smart and practical and valued his tricks more than honor.  And she did not need him.  Not his money or prestige or position or even his attention.  She could get all those things herself, which meant that when she was with him, it was because she wanted to be.  At times—when he was planning the wedding with Sigyn and looking at Sif out of the corner of his eyes thinking _I can hurt you just as well—_ he hated that he could not bring himself to be happy with someone, anyone, else. 

The sun was still down, but a pre-dawn gray was beginning to crawl across the sky.  It was nearly morning and soon he would have to leave so he could sneak back into camp. 

Loki began to stand, slowly, quietly, but Sif’s eyes still cracked open. 

“Are you sneaking out?” She asked, her voice groggy and amused.

He found himself smiling.  It made her smile as well.  “I have to get back,” he said.

She nodded.  “Thor and the Warriors are probably worried.”

Loki felt the smile fade from his face.  “Yes,” he said, turning to the window again. 

He heard Sif sigh and begin to sit up, groaning as her back popped loudly. 

“Loki,” she started.  When he did not look at her, she gently took his chin and turned it towards her.  “Loki,” she said.  “I will not allow Thor to do anything that would endanger you.”

Loki snorted bitterly.  “Since when has anyone been able to stop Thor from doing as he pleases?”

Sif chuckled.  “You seemed to manage it quite well.  You stopped him from trying that idiotic plan to get back at Thrym, did you not?  Without you there to stop him, the Warriors and I have had to learn some of your tricks after he tried some such schemes.  We are not so good as you were, but we have managed to keep him alive and mostly respectable.”

“A king should be able to manage that himself,” Loki said stubbornly, an old argument.

“I suppose it is good he is a prince, yet, is it not?”  Sif said with a smile, an old answer.  Loki refused to let himself smile again, instead glancing at the coming dawn. 

“You will not leave immediately,” Loki said.  He was not entirely sure whether it was a request or a statement. 

“No.  I need to speak with Thor, and I would like to speak with you again, if only to say proper goodbyes?”  She said, phrasing it as a question. 

Loki nodded mutely.  He hoped she did not see anything in his face.

“I should be going,” Loki said after a moment.  “I have to be back before roll call.” He picked up his tie—wrinkled from its time on the floor—and tied it around his neck. 

Sif nodded.  She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope.  “The letter from your mother,” she said quietly.  “I promised I would deliver it at least.”

Loki took it and tucked it into his pocket, pretending not to see the name on the front in his mother’s handwriting, trying not to picture her writing it and wondering if it would get to him at all. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking just a bit. 

She said nothing.  It was one of the things Loki liked most about Sif.  As much as Loki loved words and their many uses, sometimes he loathed them just as much.  They were suffocating things that wrapped around him like wool.   Sif would not trap him in them, though.  She was not sentimental.

After he had gotten a hold of himself, Sif stood and pulled him into a long embrace.  It was long and tight, but also gentle. 

“I always thought it would be Thor who would run off and join a war,” she said into his hair.  “If you do anything so desperately idiotic again, I will strangle you myself.”

“You’ll have to go through me first,” came Peter’s voice from the doorway.  He was leaning against the doorjamb, his clothes slightly askew and dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he had had a truly rough night. Loki frowned over Sif’s shoulder.  It did not sound like he was joking. 

Sif laughed nonetheless.  “That is fair enough, Mr. Parker,” she said, letting go of Loki.  “I will leave him in your capable hands. 

Peter did not acknowledge her words, turning to Loki and saying, “We’d better get going.  It’s almost dawn; the guards will be leaving their girlfriends for their shift soon.  We don’t want to run into them in the street.”

Loki frowned again, trying to suss out Peter’s odd behavior.  He nodded slowly.  “Of course, Parker.  We should be going soon.”

Sif handed Loki his jacket and he donned it, following Peter out into the rest of the flat.  He stopped just before going into the hall and turned.  “Goodbye, Sif,” He said quietly. 

“Till we meet again,” she replied. 

***

Loki caught up with Peter just outside the café.  The younger man was slumped against the wall of the café with his arms crossed over his chest.  As soon as he saw Loki, he pushed away from the wall and began walking towards the road to camp. 

“Parker,” Loki called, loudly enough for Peter to hear, but quietly enough that no one would wonder why someone was shouting in English in a German village.  

Peter paused for a moment. 

“We have to wait for Natasha,” Loki reminded him.  Peter slouched back to him, looking sullen.  Loki frowned down at him. 

“What is wrong?” He asked. 

Peter huffed.  “What do you think?”

“I do not know; that is why I asked.”

Peter scowled at him.  “You’re supposed to be smart.”

 “Explain it to me,” he said quietly.  He was beginning to guess.

“You almost killed yourself over them!” Peter said.  It came out almost a shout, and he took a breath to calm himself.  “You almost killed yourself over them, and then you forget all about it because your girlfriend comes and says sorry.  You’re going to tear yourself up over them again and who knows if you’ll survive it a second time.”

“She did not say sorry,” Loki said calmly.

“Then she should have,” Peter snarled.  “I can’t watch you kill yourself, Loki,” he said, his voice cracking.

Loki took a step forward and rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder.  “You will not have to, Peter.  I promise you that.”

Peter huffed in disbelief, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Loki tightened his grip on the younger man’s shoulder.  “You will not have to, Peter.  I was alone before.  I had no one to whom I felt I could turn.  That is no longer so.”

He let that hang for a moment.  “You should not underestimate the effect you have had on me, Peter.”

Loki suddenly found himself in another embrace—his second of the day.  It was surprisingly nice.

“I still don’t like her,” Peter said into Loki’s shoulder, suddenly sounding very young.

Loki laughed.  “You do not have to.  But perhaps you could leave your opinion open to revisions?”

Peter shrugged, leaving the hug.  “I don’t know.  I’ll try.”

“That is all I ask, Peter.”

***

Steve and Tony met in Fury’s office just after roll call. Tony had given Steve the more detailed rundown of the goings-on outside of the cooler, and to say Steve had questions was an understatement.  He’d been out of commission for little more than a week, and the game had been switched on its head, and he was hanging on by his fingernails, trying to catch up. 

Number one:  Huginn was down.  Their two tunnel escape plan had become a one tunnel escape without even a corresponding reduction in the number of escapees. 

Number two:  Coulson was dead.  Steve’s mind stuttered around the personal loss to focus on its importance to the plan.  He was a collaborator, an organizer, and a member of the prison community.  They’d lost a valuable asset and taken a loss in morale as well, he was sure.

Number three:  Loki was a spy.  Not particularly surprising.  Steve had always thought there was something a bit odd about the man.  More worrying was that he’d known about the collapse before it happened, yet Coulson was still killed.  Steve would have words with him on the subject. 

Furthermore, he had a mission that dovetailed with the escape.  Tony had been very enthusiastic on the subject of the artifact, but not especially informative.  Another reason Steve and Loki needed to meet. 

But that was not the reason Steve and Tony were in Fury’s room.  They were in Fury’s room to address another issue:  One a bit more pressing than Loki’s questionable sources and even more questionable decisions. 

“Colonel Fury,” Steve said, striding into the room with Tony on his heels.  “I have a question about our deadline.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello, plot! Haven't seen you in a while. And aren't those the characters we started out with? It's so nice to see you all again. Come in, come in, we have a lot of catching up to do.
> 
> Yeah, we're back to the plot part. Yay!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Steve and Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony talk to, and about, spies.

Tony followed Steve into Fury’s office.  He really hadn’t known the Captain would have such a strong reaction to the news.  To be honest, it wouldn’t have stopped him if he had, but he hadn’t known.   So when Steve had immediately lit out for Colonel Fury’s office, he’d been right on his tail.  Because if there was going to be a fight between the officers, Tony was going to be there to watch.  In Tony’s experience, officer fights were a spectator sport, and Rogers and Fury were definitely star contenders.

“Colonel Fury,” Steve said, pushing in the door and striding in unannounced.  “I have a question about our deadline.”

Fury was sitting at his desk with an array of papers and envelopes spread across the flat surface.  He looked up from his papers.  His eye went first to the Captain, then to Tony.  “You do, do you?” Fury asked and Tony tried not to look guilty. 

“Yes, sir,” Steve said.  Tony noticed that, though Steve was at attention, he hadn’t saluted when he came into the room.   Tony hadn’t either, but he was Tony. Rogers followed regulation to a T.  He still creased the legs of his uniform trousers for Christ’s sake.  Who did that? 

If Fury noticed the lack of salute, he didn’t mention it.  He only looked at Rogers expectantly.

Steve seemed to pull himself into an even stricter posture.  “Sergeant Stark alerted me to the possibility that the deadline was not actually based on the placement of microphones under the camp.  That there was no way you could know that, and the deadline was actually motivated by something else.”

Fury raised an eyebrow.  “And?” He challenged.  “You going to have something to say about it if is just an arbitrary date?”

Steve frowned and squared his shoulders.  “Is it?”  He asked.  Steve’s voice was very calm, but he seemed to loom over Fury.  “Because if you’ve been hurrying us, rushing us through this, letting us take shortcuts and putting my men in danger, than I will have more than words for you, Nick.”

 _Wow,_ Tony thought.  _Steve must be_ pissed _to call Fury by his first name_. He thought over that sentence again.   _Wait, when had Rogers become “Steve”?_ They weren’t friends or anything.  Even if _Rogers_ had decided to keep Tony’s claustrophobia quiet.  It didn’t mean they were suddenly chums.

Furystood, his hands resting on the desk’s surface.  “I am the Commander of this camp, Rogers, and I set that deadline for a reason. That is all you need to know.”

“With all due respect, Colonel, I need to know more than that.  We’ve been hurrying to make that date for the last four months.  We’ve had diggers working around the clock, risking their necks to make that deadline.  Phil was working to make that deadline when he went down the hole, Colonel.  Tell me that wasn’t for some arbitrary date.”

The two men stood for a moment, facing down across the desk.  Suddenly, Fury sighed and sat back down behind the desk.  Rogers sat as well, taking the other chair in front of the desk, which left Tony the cot to sit on.

Fury rubbed his good eye.  “It’s not an arbitrary date, Rogers,” he said.  “But Stark’s right, it isn’t microphones that’s going to stop us.  It’s separation.  The Germans are breaking up this camp into two new ones.  They’ll be based in different complexes.  From what we know of the complexes, escape will be next to impossible and tunneling will be absolutely impossible.  Stone floors, apparently. The reason we made up the microphone story was because we can’t evacuate the entire camp, and we can’t control a riot if the men decide they have to be on that list. So we made up a story that kept the deadline, but didn’t panic the men.”

Rogers looked like he was processing that. 

“Wait,” said Tony.  “I have the same problem with this story as I did before.  Where are you getting this information?  The Nazis aren’t just telling you their plans all of a sudden.”

“No,” Fury growled.  “We have a source.”

Rogers nodded.  He’d known, apparently.  “She—“

Fury cut him off with a gesture.  “We can’t talk about this.  It isn’t secure,” he said, eying the door they’d come from.  “I trust that has put your concerns to rest, Rogers?”

“Yes sir,” Steve said, standing again. 

Tony stood too, a bit disappointed.  It wasn’t that he’d wanted the Colonel to be lying, but he had sort of looked forward to seeing Rogers and Fury fight.  Oh well.

“I trust that everything else is going to plan?” Fury said when they were half way to the door.  “There were no other reasons you might think the deadline was arbitrary?”

Tony and Rogers both turned.  They looked at each other in confusion.

“What do you mean, sir?” Rogers asked.

“I hope you boys aren’t running behind in the digging and just hoping that the deadline was flexible for that reason.”  Fury explained archly.

“Ah, no sir,” Rogers said, looking a bit sheepish.  “Nothing like that.”  He brightened up a bit.  “In fact, we’re ahead of schedule.  With the digging team off of Huginn and on Muninn, plus Stark’s advancements we’ll probably be ready to break ground in two weeks.”

Fury’s eyebrows rose.  “Two weeks?” He said, turning his gaze to Tony.

“Uh,” Tony said, suddenly on the spot.  “Closer to sixteen days.  Just to be sure.”

Fury turned his gaze to Rogers.  “Will the rest of the arrangements be ready by then?”

Rogers shuffled from foot to foot.  He couldn’t have looked more guilty if he tried.  “I will check on it right now, sir.” He said after a moment.

“See that you do,” Rogers and Tony started for the door, but were again halted by Fury. “Oh, and Stark?”

Tony paused a moment.  “Yes, Colonel?”

“Don’t come to me with Odinson’s paranoid delusions again.   If we start indulging his insecurities, we’ll never get anything else done with our time.”

Tony cringed.  “Yes sir.”

***

Steve walked out of Fury’s office feeling a bit foolish.  Had he really just gone to the highest ranking officer in the camp and questioned his orders?  On the word of Stark and Odinson of all people? 

He waited for the inevitable guilt to wash over him—it always did when he so much as thought about disobeying a superior—but nothing happened. 

Had Fury truly kept them to an arbitrary schedule, hurrying would have endangered the men. It could have been responsible for Phil’s death.  It would have been a breach of trust and a peril to everyone involved.  And Steve had confronted his commander on it, because, though the army demanded obedience, it did not stoop so far as to demand sycophancy. 

And Steve had been growing complacent.  He’d been following Fury unquestioningly and the sudden thought that he could have been willfully blind to a manipulation incensed him enough to confront his commander, something he thought he would never be able to do again.

Steve couldn’t help but feel a small measure of achievement with that as he and Tony walked across the courtyard. 

Steve and Tony’s second stop of the day was Loki’s hut.  Steve knew he should go directly to Rhodes and the other head of sections, not to mention checking on his forgers, but he needed to speak with Loki first. 

Tony had told him about Loki’s involvement with the tunnel collapse.  Steve knew that Loki had explained himself to the Colonel and the others, and they understood his motivations and trusted them.  But Steve still needed to hear it from Loki himself.  He couldn’t be complacent again.

Tony knocked on the door to Loki’s room.  There were a few moments of silence before Loki came to the door.

The Lieutenant opened the door only partially.  “Ah, Captain Rogers.  You are out of the cooler, I see.  How can I help you?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Uh, can we speak inside?” Steve asked. 

Loki rubbed his face.  He looked like he’d been ill.  “Is there any way we could talk later, Captain?” he asked. 

Steve squared his shoulders.  “It would be better to get this out of the way now,” he said resolutely.  If he didn’t talk to Loki now, who knew if he’d ever work up to trying again.

Loki nodded and stepped back so they could step through the door.  He went to the desk and swept a few papers—letters by the envelopes—into a drawer.  Loki sat down on the chair and gestured Steve and Tony to the cot.

“This is to do with Coulson, I assume?”  Loki asked tiredly. Steve nodded.

Loki crossed his arms over his chest.  “I have explained myself,” he said after a moment.  He nodded at Tony.  “Stark was there.”

“I am aware,” Steve said.  “I’m not here to accuse you of anything.  I just want to hear what happened in your own words.”

Loki rubbed his eyes again.  They were red and swollen like he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before.  “I needed to gain the Kommandant’s trust in order to fulfill my mission.  Part of that was sacrificing Huginn.  I spoke with Coulson before I told the Kommandant the location of the tunnel.  We did not expect Kuntz to act so quickly, which is likely why he was caught in the tunnel.”

Steve nodded slowly.  That was exactly what Tony had told him. 

“Why didn’t you talk to anyone else?”  Steve asked.  “Fury or me?”

Loki shrugged one shoulder.  “I assumed he would inform you.”

“Did you really?”

Loki shrugged again.

“Loki, we’ve got at least two different factions working in this camp, and none of them are talking to each other.  If we’re going to work together and help you ‘fulfill your mission’ you have to make an effort to communicate.”

Loki gave Steve a long look.  He seemed to be assessing something.  It made Steve a bit uncomfortable.  After a moment, the Lieutenant turned to Tony. 

“Did you ask Fury about the deadline?”

“Yeah,” Tony said.  “It’s a real deadline, but a fake reason.”

“Where is he getting his information?”  Loki asked. 

“I don’t know,” Tony said, looking at Steve. Loki turned to look at him as well. 

Steve hesitated for a moment.  He still wasn’t sure about Loki.  His story was plausible enough—Coulson was just the type of man to go into a tunnel likely to collapse if it meant sparing one of his men—but Loki was also a spy and really too mysterious to quantify. 

Loki seemed to see these thoughts on Steve’s face.  “You are asking me to trust you enough to provide you with information, Captain,” Loki said quietly.  “Surely you mean to provide me with the same.”

Steve swallowed.  He knew enough about Loki to know this was his one chance.  If he didn’t show he could be relied upon on his end of the bargain, than Loki would never confide in him. 

He looked from Tony’s mild curiosity to Loki’s almost challenging gaze. 

“Fury has a source in Kuntz’s office.  Her name is Maria Hill, but she goes as Magrit.”

“Margrit the secretary?” Tony asked just as Loki said, “Hill? Hügel in German?”  Loki looked like he was fighting to keep his poker face.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve said, confused.  His confusion only grew when Loki began laughing.

“What?” Steve asked.  He turned to Tony, who looked just as confused. 

“Let me guess,” Loki continued.  “She has connections with the Resistance?  Perhaps a red haired woman and a tall, dark man?”

Tony seemed to get it, though.  “You know her?  I mean, from outside the Kommandant’s office?” He asked.

“You know, Captain,” Loki said, still chuckling.  “I think you are correct.  We do need to foster communication in this camp.  Agent Hügel has been working with Natasha and me for months.  She helped us search the Kommandant’s office.  She helped us get you your steel, Stark. In fact, she was the reason I did not believe the microphone story.  I had no idea she was working with Fury as well.  I shall have to congratulate her later.”

“Why would she keep that a secret?” Steve asked. 

Loki gave him a pitying look.  “She is a spy, Captain,” he said.  “That is what she does.”

Steve rubbed his forehead.  Deception for the sake of deception.  He didn’t like it. 

“Does that mean you’re going to work with us?  Bring your information to all of us?” he asked. 

Loki gave him another of those assessing stares.  Steve unconsciously straightened under the gaze.

“I suppose we can form a temporary alliance,” he said.  “But I pledge only to give you information that is strictly relevant to your part of the plan.  Anything beyond that is top secret.”

Steve figured that was only fair, but he couldn’t help but suspect that the reason for the admission was a specific secret. 

He nodded anyway, and the two men shook hands.  Perhaps Steve would be able to keep the camp from splitting down the middle after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Maria! I needed more people of the female persuasion because this story really doesn't have enough characters yet, does it? 
> 
> Just FYI, I will be going out of town (and wifi range) for the weekend to shoot arrows and bullets at things (targets, not small fluffy animals), so I won't be able to respond to any comments after a certain point tomorrow. I should be back on Sunday, but I might not be able to update until Monday. Sorry. That is when you will find out what was in Loki's letters (if things go according to plan).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	28. Letters from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reads his letters.

Peter and Loki had waited long enough outside the café for Natasha to pass Loki a letter and wish them well.  The entire walk back to the camp, Loki could feel the two letters from his family like an ember in his breast pocket. 

Once he had dismissed Peter to get some sleep and locked himself in his tiny room, Loki threw the letters on the desk, taking a step back as if he expected them to attack. He stared at the letters without moving for a long moment. 

He could always burn them.  If he were smart, he would burn them.  Opening them would only open old wounds best left undisturbed. 

But then again, just knowing Sif and Thor were only a few miles away was enough to open those wounds.  He reached out and touched the letter his brother had sent him. 

What could Thor possibly have to say to him?  He had assumed that his brother would come to…well, he was not entirely sure.  He had not expected to be followed.  He thought once Thor knew of his birth he would leave him to his fate. 

Perhaps Thor would drag him back to Asgard to face punishment for fleeing his responsibilities. Perhaps they would try him for treason after joining the British army, though he knew that legally dubious.  Whenever he had imagined meeting his brother again, he could not think beyond the thick cloud of emotion that surrounded the entire country of Asgard in his mind.

Surely Thor would be angry, he thought. Loki had taken the coward’s way.  He had refused to face the truth and nearly killed himself.  In Thor’s mind there was no higher crime. 

Furthermore, Thor now knew Loki was not truly his brother.  There had been many, many times in their lives together where Loki had enraged Thor to murderous heights.  But he had always rested assured in the knowledge that Thor would never raise a hand to his brother, at least not to enact permanent damage. 

Loki no longer had a claim to that clemency.   There was no blood connecting them. There was nothing stopping Thor from striking him down for the dishonor he had dealt their family, for the suffering he had induced upon their mother.  Surely that was the only reason he would come to find Loki. 

Was it not?

He took the envelope in his hand.  Thor could not punish him with a letter, surely?  The All-father, Loki could believe, but not Thor.  Thor would dole out his justice physically.

What was the letter, then?

Loki slipped one of the small knives out of his sleeve and slit open the top of the envelope.  He pulled out the paper inside before he could give into cowardice again and unfolded it, spreading the sheet across the desktop. 

It began:  _Brother, for you are my brother, in all ways but one._

Loki paused. 

He could not mean that.  It was one thing for Sif to say that she did not care about the truth of his birth.  Sif was Sif. She had overcome her own battles with the circumstances of her birth.  She could understand the struggle it was to disallow such circumstances to define a person.  Furthermore, even if she did not understand, she had the capacity to lie to the contrary.

Thor was unable to do so.  In any conveyance—be it speech or written correspondence—he was ever truthful.  Loki knew because he had spent many hours trying to break him of the habit.

But that meant that Thor still…he still saw them as brothers.  He still…  Loki cut off that thought before it could fully form.  It was dangerous to get his hopes up.  There would be something in the rest of the letter that contradicted the madness.

_I do not know where to begin this letter.  I have many thoughts I wish to convey to you, but this was never my medium, as you well know.  If I were there, or you were here, I would be able to show you, I think.  But then again, I thought I was expressing these thoughts before, and I feel now that you did not always understand them as I meant them._

Loki frowned.  Thor was right.  He was terrible at the written word.  Loki was already lost to his meaning. 

_When I heard the rumors that you were alive after the Bifrost, I must tell you how incredibly relieved I was.  I had spent the months since your fall thinking over our exchanges.  I wondered what had sent you over the edge, of course, but more than that, I wondered what you thought of me.  Selfish, I know, but this will not be news to you._

Loki blinked.  Thor was calling himself selfish?  When it was Loki that had abandoned his responsibilities to his family and country? Nothing could be further from the truth.  Loki was the selfish one.  Loki had given in to cowardice and despair.  Loki had left.  Thor should be scolding him at best or verbally flaying him at worst. 

He read on.

_I thought back over our dealings in the last four years, do you remember them?  The last time we spoke before you left for university, I had interrupted a game of tafl you were playing with Sif, I do not remember why.  I think I had gotten it in my head that you should come with my friends and me on a hunting trip or something equally unimportant.  You were distempered, I was offended, and if Sif had not intervened, I have no doubt it would have ended in blows._

Loki remembered the instance.  It was not unlike many others in their repertoire of interactions.  Thor had felt Loki’s pastimes inferior to his own, and sought to educate his younger brother by including him in hunting or sparring.  Thor had always seen it as a kindness, rather than an inconvenience. 

Loki was unsure why Thor had included the memory in the letter.  It was simply one of many such happenstances.  The only difference was that Loki had finally stood up to his brother and told him he did not wish to be disturbed.  The ensuing fight had indeed been violent, and Sif had—at least in Loki’s mind—sided with Thor.  It only made matters worse that it was shortly after that Sif had dissolved their courtship.

_The time after that, you were home from university on a short break in the middle of the semester.  I believe father called you home for a meeting with the Spanish ambassadors.  You were in and out of meetings all day and trying to keep up with your studies at night.  I was not a part of the meetings, because father knew me to be too brash for them, but I was home from military service for the beginning and ending ceremonies.  I was glad you were home, though, and I was convinced you were working too hard.  The night before the ending ceremony, I crashed into your bedchambers, more than a little tipsy, and took away your books until you relented and came out to the taverns with us.  You never drank, of course, but I was convinced you would have a good time. We drank long into the night, and in the morning, when I turned up to the ending ceremony still slightly drunk, father gave you a stern lecture about allowing me to stay out so late._

Loki was confused.  What on earth was Thor trying to say?  These were not fond memories, to hearken Loki back to more pleasant times, nor were they condemning memories, exhibiting Loki’s many failings.

The Allfather had always looked to Loki as a stabilizing influence on his more impulsive heir.  That was nothing new.  Loki could recall the Allfather scolding him for losing control of his brother when he was barely twelve.  It was not long after that Loki had realized his father saw this as his sole purpose in life:  a mediator for Thor’s many moods. 

Loki shook off the old resentment and read on.

_I remember giggling behind father’s back and trying to get that blank mask off your face with my jokes.  I was once able to, you know.  When did that stop happening, brother? When did I become just another person from whom you hid behind your many masks?  When did I stop seeing your true self and find myself more and more in the company of Prince Loki, rather than Brother Loki? I cannot recall, but I am sure you could put a time on it.  It saddens me to no end that I have somehow allowed our friendship and brotherhood to become a matter of name and duty rather than one of genuine affection._

Loki blinked.  Thor was—Thor was blaming himself?  He read over the letter again.  They were not instances of Loki’s failings, but where Thor was finding his own.  He was taking responsibility for the gradual change in their relationship.

But—No.  That was not right.  Thor was supposed to blame Loki.  That was how it worked.  It was this from which Loki had been running.  Thor would be angry at Loki for trying to kill himself, because Loki was selfish and did not try hard enough to be like his brother.  That was how Thor thought.  That was how everyone thought. 

_I suppose I thought that you would always understand that I loved you, that I still love you.  I suppose I thought that, even when I did not say it, did not act it, when I treated you as lesser than all my other companions, you could somehow see that I was only acting the tough warrior man that I am supposed to be.  I suppose I thought that you, because you are so clever and see so much, would be able to see that._

_But I have always been an idiot when it comes to you, Brother._

_I see now that it was unbearably arrogant of me to think that you would put a blind trust in me, give me your loyalty and friendship when there was nothing but scorn in return.  When I told myself that of course you knew, it was only a way of putting my mistakes on you._

_I apologize for that, Loki.  I beg your forgiveness for my foolishness.  I only wish for you to give me another chance to earn your brotherhood and friendship again._

_Your Brother,_

_Thor_

No.  He could not mean that.  It was some sort of trick. 

Only it was not a trick.  Thor could not trick Loki.  It was not in his nature to even try. 

Loki dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.  Thor was asking his forgiveness.  _His._ Loki.The cowardly son of an enemy monster.  He had the prince of Asgard groveling at his feet.  He almost laughed, but it came out a sob. 

He did not deserve this.  He did not deserve anything.  He had tried to cut them off and they should have been glad.  He had spared them the trouble of disowning him.  He had done them a favor. 

But here was Thor, asking to be let back into Loki’s life.  Not for any reason, except because he wanted them to be friends and brothers again.  He did not so much as mention a return to Asgard. 

Loki shook his head.  He was missing something.  There was some angle he was not seeing. 

He looked at the other envelope on his desk.  He knew by the handwriting and scent sprayed on the corner that it was from his mother.  She had left it unaddressed, but on the back there was penned a sketch of a deer—her favorite nickname for him. 

He pried open the wax seal with his knife, and took out a small card decorated by clusters of yellow flowers in the corners.  It was encrypted, but the message was brief.

_Son—_

_I love you, I miss you, but you must do as you will.  It is my instinct to cling to you, wrap you in vines and pull you back to me. I cannot do so without facing your inevitable suffocation._

_Some plants need room to grow.  Perhaps you needed more than Asgard could offer.  I wish I had seen that sooner._

_I have told Sif to return you to me.  Truthfully, I do not think it possible.  But I wish for someone with sense and love of you to return to me with tidings._

_I love you, I miss you, but if you promise me you will be better as you are, I can let you go._

_You have always been my own, my deer._

_Mother_

Loki wrapped his arms around his chest and watched as the words blurred.  He wondered if it was natural for people to feel so sad and relieved and lost and found at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Thanks for reading. :D


	29. Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have some more bonding time and Clint weighs in on some issues.

Tony and Steve were in the kitchen, doing what Steve called “exposure therapy” (until Tony made a joke about exposing…other things) and what Tony called cruel and unusual punishment.

“Just get in,” Steve said calmly.  He was using his Captain voice, Tony noticed.  It was supposed to be reassuring.  Apparently brusqueness was reassuring to soldiers, and thought Tony _was_ technically a soldier, the command was only irritating, not reassuring.

“I’ll get in when I get in, Cap,” he said through grit teeth. 

They’d been at it for forty-five minutes, with Tony trying to last longer and longer in the cabinet under the island.  He’d just gone 1.73 seconds in the cabinet and was now slouched beside it, his hair stuck to his head with sweat and his knees still feeling knocky.  Steve was crouched beside him, his wristwatch in his hand and looking solid as a rock.  Tony sort of hated him for it.

“You’re getting better,” Steve coaxed.  “You almost lasted two minutes that time.”

Tony growled in annoyance.  Two minutes.  Not even two minutes.  Only one and three quarters. Pathetic.  He rubbed his hands together, ignoring the clammy chill and tremor in his fingers. 

He could do this.  He’d spent hours in workshops, alternatively in and under various machines. 

He could remember one particular instance when he’d spent nearly ten hours under his father’s Bugatti T36 during a particularly combative Christmas party when he was nineteen. He hadn’t even noticed the metal practically encasing him; he’d been in a haze of anger, alcohol, and engineering.  He certainly hadn’t been worried about the metal buckling in and the chassis collapsing on top of him then.

Tony focused on breathing, closing his eyes.  Steve shifted his weight until he was sitting on the ground next to him. 

He didn’t suggest they take a break, at least.  He’d learned better the last time he had and Tony had sworn a blue streak.  It had actually made him feel better, because Steve blushed red as a tomato and that was just too funny to see in a military man.

“You do know that you don’t have to get over it today, right?”  Steve said after a moment.  “I mean—“

Tony gave him a look that halted him in his tracks.  Steve was a terrible liar.  The truth of the matter was, Tony _did_ have to get over it today.  Or at least in the next few days.  The deadline had been moved up.  They’d be escaping in two weeks and if Tony couldn’t handle the cabinet—which was only thin wood paneling—there was no way he could stomach twenty feet of solid dirt overhead. 

Steve ignored Tony’s glare.  “We doubled your time.  That’s pretty good progress, isn’t it?”

Tony rubbed his head.  He was beginning to get a headache.  He wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the upcoming deadline or the fear of that stuffy little cabinet.

“Get your watch ready,” he said, opening the cabinet again.  Steve’s brow wrinkled in the frown that reminded Tony of Jarvis.  He didn’t argue, though.

Tony took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.  He’d tried to distract himself with engineering and math problems each of the previous times.  As soon closed the cabinet door, however, Tony could keep nothing in his mind but the overwhelming panic.  All he could keep in his head was the overwhelming need to claw his way out. 

Even in the dark, when he couldn’t see a hand before his face, he could feel the walls compressing in on him.  Squeezing closer and closer.  He could feel the air grow scarce in the tiny space, his chest seeming to contract and he could. Not. Breathe.  He had to move, to lash out at the walls and tear at the ceiling and fight tooth and claw because he was trapped, there was no getting out, he’d be stuck here, immobile and screaming silently until he died, his mouth locked open and gasping for a nonexistent breath.

It was that thought that had lost him two nails on his left hand and three on his right when the Nazis decided to leave him in his metal escape suit for twelve hours, trapped and blind when the visor had been fused to the helmet.  It was that thought that sent him into a semi-catatonic state until the morning after he’d finally been pried out of the damn thing.  It was that thought that no amount of distraction or preoccupation could banish from his mind. 

Tony rubbed his temples.  He might be terrified of that damned cabinet, but he was also damned stubborn.  He was not going to let the damned krauts stand in the damned way of his damned escape.  Not a chance, goddammit.  It was just a cabinet for christ’s sake. 

He nodded his head towards Steve and climbed into the cabinet.  _See,_ he thought.  _Nothing to it.  Just a cabinet.  Not even the hole.  Nothing at all wrong._

Steve swung the door shut and Tony’s pulse picked up again.  _It’s nothing.  Just a simple cabinet door.  It’ll move if you push it, so no need to panic._

It didn’t help.  Tony could feel his heartbeat continue to speed up, pumping in his ears and tapping at his throat.  He clenched and unclenched his hands, forcibly keeping himself from reaching out and touching the walls around him, making them real.  His feet began to tap soundlessly without his permission.  It was as if they had too much excess energy and were working it off in the only way they could that was not kicking their way out of the island.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and curled himself into a ball.  This was something he could have never done in the suit.  There, he had been lying flat on his back as they moved him from the prison to a truck to a train to another prison camp.  He’d been able to feel himself move, but could see nothing.  After the panic had faded to a background hum, the dissociation had set in.  After six or so hours he’d wondered if his body was actually real, or if he’d imagined it.  He’d found himself listening intently for any hint of the outside world—a voice, a sound, a smell—onto which to cling. 

 “You doing alright?” Steve asked suddenly. 

Tony nodded but realized the Captain couldn’t see.

“M’fine,” he said.  It came out slurred and weak, but Steve didn’t comment.  “Do you—“  He cut himself off.

“Do I what?” Steve asked. 

“Uh,” Tony said.  Now he felt like an idiot for asking.  Well, it had never stopped him before.  “Do you mind talking to me?  About anything.  Even your crumby Dodgers.  Though I can and will remain a fervent supporter of the Yanks.”

Steve chuckled.  “Sure, Tony.  Though I might treat you to a lecture on art history just for that.”

Tony groaned loudly, but he couldn’t help but listened to every word.

***

Clint, Peter, and Loki were arrayed around Loki’s room, going over the developing plan for obtaining the tesseract.   

Pete had gotten a nap and looked much better than he had that morning.  Clint envied him his youthful resilience.  He’d been up all night serving as Natasha’s backup on the roof of the Asgardians’ hotel and  he knew he looked like death warmed over. 

On the plus side, Loki looked like crap, too, despite kipping on Natasha’s bed.  The Lieutenant looked like an old hound dog Clint had when he was a kid:  all soulful, drooping eyes. 

Clint hadn’t been present for much of the previous night’s dealings, but Peter had filled him in on some of the basics. 

Sif and Loki were an item, or at least had been in the past. That was new and exciting. Surprising, considering that Clint had been almost totally sure Loki had no interest in women.  After all, he’d never made a pass at Natasha, and she was as woman as they came.

Also, Loki got a couple of letters from his people. That, Clint was willing to bet, was the reason Loki looked like something big and evil-smelling had chewed him up and spat him back out again. 

Clint had always been of the opinion that Loki was not actually quite as victimized as the Lieutenant seemed to think.  Clint had had his own fair share of familial spats, but the long and short of it was that Loki’s brother and friends had come to the country to look for him.  You just didn’t do that for people you didn’t give a rat’s ass about. 

The Lieutenant had one of the softest underbellies of anyone Clint had ever met. And, dollars to donuts, Loki had let his feelings blind him to the truth and the letters contradicted everything he’d previously thought he knew about his family.  For such a smart man, he could be remarkably blind to some things.  Though family was always a damned steel-trap for the intellect. 

The most important bit of news had come this morning, though—they were moving up the escape, and thus the theft of the tesseract.  Apparently having Stark in charge of the tunnels was the best choice Fury could have made.  The Sergeant and Rogers had been around to Loki to alert him to the new date—only two weeks away.

“We will have to steal the key sooner than we thought,” Loki was saying.  “But I would prefer to put it off until the last possible moment.  We do not want for the Kommandant to go looking for the key after we have already taken it.  That would put the entire escape in danger.”

“Are we thinking a day before?  An hour?” Clint asked. 

“The morning of the escape day, I think,” Loki said.  “That seems the best timing.”

“And the actual theft?” Peter asked.  “How will that go?”

This was something had Clint, too, intrigued.  He knew Loki definitely planned on continuing the theft, but now that he was more secure with his family, what did that mean for his future?  Loki had planned on leaving the country with Natasha and taking the tesseract to England, but that had mostly been to avoid his brother.  Would he keep that plan?  Or would he hand off the tesseract and ride off into the sunset with Sif? 

Loki didn’t answer any of those questions, instead outlining their plan for the heist. 

It wasn’t much of a plan.  They knew next to nothing about the facility itself besides its location, and the plan basically amounted to going in, take out the guards, steal the tesseract, deal with any other problems that might arise, and get out.

It wasn’t the worst plan Clint had ever heard, but it was damn near close.  He said as much. 

“That is a shitty plan.”

Peter nodded in agreement and Loki looked mournful.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “It is not my best work.  But it is all we can do until we have more information.  We will do reconnaissance as soon as we are able, but for now, the plan is as it stands.”

Clint and Peter exchanged a look.  It was Peter who asked. 

“And after the heist?” he said.  “Are you going to go back to Asgard with Sif?”

Loki rubbed his eyes.  “We should concentrate on the objective and escape.  Considering anything before we do so is premature.”

Peter looked like he was planning on arguing further, but Clint changed the subject.  Loki would just get more stubborn the further Peter pushed him. 

“When are we doing reconnaissance?” he asked.  “Soon?”

Loki nodded.  “Tomorrow night.  You and I will scout the security perimeter of the facility.  The night after, Parker and I will look into infiltration.  We also have to talk about supplies and last minute details for this.  It is always the stray details that hobble an operation like this.  We were planning on another month at least, but I want all our strings tied.  Understood?”

Clint and Peter nodded. 

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	30. The Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, Tony, and Maria get the key and the Kommandant has an interesting conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! We're getting into the homestretch here, so I figured I would give you an update on the progress. First of all, I have the rest of this pretty much plotted out, and barring any characters getting minds of their own and running off on tangents (I'm looking at you, Loki and Tony) we have about four to six chapters left.

Loki silently swung the door to the Kommandant’s office shut and stepped into the room. Fraulein Hügel and Stark were already inside, looking at the device held in Stark’s hand. 

“Well?” Loki asked, trying to contain his impatience. 

“It’s scanning, give it a minute,” Stark said, just as snappish.  It was the morning of the escape and everyone was on edge.  The past two weeks had been a flurry of quiet activity in the camp: preparing the tunnel and heist and trying to account for any inconveniences that could come up in the execution. Loki had gotten perhaps a total of eighteen hours of sleep the whole fortnight, and he doubted any of the other planners had either.  The entire camp was a brewing concoction of excitement, exhaustion, and anticipation.  

“Alright, it’s ready,” Stark said, holding up the device.  The small lights on the machine’s top were illuminated, so Loki agreed that Stark was correct.  The device was a handheld version of the more bulky equipment Stark had built to find the transmitter Loki had tricked the Kommandant into hiding in his office.  The lights would blink when the device was pointed at the transmitter.  Providing the Kommandant had kept his word and hidden the transmitter with the key to the tesseract, the device should lead them straight to their objective.

“Now what happens?” Maria asked.  Since learning that Margrit Hügel, member of the Resistance and covert spy in the Kommandant’s office was also Maria Hill, intelligence officer reporting to the United States Army, Loki’s respect for the woman had only grown.  Any other person would be worried, Loki supposed, but he was simply impressed.  It was very difficult to deceive Loki Odinson, yet Maria had done so for months.

Any other person would also be insulted, or perhaps betrayed at this deception, but again, Loki was not.  After all, it was not as if anything truly important had changed.  Yes, she was a spy, but he had known that.  Her allegiance was still to the same side, just a different part of the same side.  Such small delineations seemed unimportant to him. His sole concession to the change in her status was a nod when they met earlier that week to arrange this little search. She had returned it, and they had carried on, as spies will. 

Stark shrugged.  “The sensor will pick it up.  We just have to scan everything.”

He turned the device slowly, starting to the left of the door and rotating counter clockwise.  At ninety degrees the lights on the top of the device flickered. 

“Ah ha!” Stark said with a smirk.  “This a-way, fellas.  Excuse me,” he said, nodding at Maria.  “Fellas and two-faced spy women.” 

It seemed Stark was not so forgiving as Loki. 

Maria ignored the barb and strode in the direction the device was pointing. The machine seemed to be pointing at the desk. 

“We searched the desk,” Maria said, running her hands over its surface.  “We found nothing.  There are no secret catches, or false bottoms to any drawers. 

Stark and Loki followed her.  It was true.  When Loki and Natasha had searched previously, they had paid the most attention to the desk.  It was the logical place to hide a key, so they had searched it thoroughly. 

Stark frowned.  “Maybe he didn’t take the bait.  Maybe he just stashed the sensor in a drawer.”

Stark began opening the drawers and rifling through the contents.  Loki smacked his hands away.

“You will alert him to a search if you continue this way,” he said, trying to ignore the sudden burst of fear he felt at those words.  “Let me.”

Stark shrugged and stepped back to slouch in the Kommandant’s leather chair, swinging his boots up to rest on the desk.  “What will you do if he threw it in a drawer?  Charm the krauts into giving you the tesseract?” he asked, his voice breezy. 

Loki revised his opinion of Stark’s mood.  It seemed the man was looking for a fight, and provoking everyone around him into starting one.  Loki ignored him and began carefully sorting through the papers and detritus in the Kommandant’s desk. He found nothing.  No sensor, no cigar box, nothing.  He was both incredibly relieved that the sensor was not simply lying in a drawer, but also mystified. 

“There is nothing here.  Are you sure the device indicated the desk?”

Stark held up the device again, pointing it to the desk from his position on the chair. The lights stayed lit. 

Stark frowned and shook the device.  Nothing happened. 

Loki’s heart was sinking when Maria took the device from Stark and began rotating it again.  She was almost halfway around when the lights again flickered.  The device had not been pointing at the desk after all.  The device had been pointing at the large carved wooden eagle hanging on the wall behind the desk. 

Maria moved the device up and down over the eagle until pinpointing the exact location of the sensor—the wing of the eagle. 

“You didn’t check this last time you searched?” Stark asked. Maria and Loki shot each other longsuffering glances and ignored him. 

Loki knocked on the painted wood of the eagle’s breast.  It was definitely hollow.  He was beginning to kick himself for not thinking to check there.  It had just seemed to him a rather garish decoration.  He had not thought the Kommandant creative enough to think to hide anything inside. 

 “There must be some way to open it,” Maria said.  She ran her hand up and down the carved feathers of the tail. 

Loki traced the seam between the wing and body of the bird with a fingertip.  There was definitely a panel there, likely one that swung open on recessed hinges hidden in the wood.  He dug his fingernail into the tiny gap and gave an experimental tug.  The wing did not budge. 

Maria, meanwhile, was running her hands over the head of the eagle, likely looking for a catch that would open the hiding place.  After a moment she stopped. 

Loki looked over in time to see her press the amber eye of the eagle inwards with a click. 

For a moment, nothing happened.  Then the head of the eagle flopped forward, startling them all back.  Inside, there was a small keypad. 

Loki groaned.  It seemed the Kommandant did not think it enough to hide the key, he also had to protect it with a passcode. 

Stark had gotten up to see what they were looking at, and as soon as the keypad was revealed he leaned forward with interest. 

“Oh, wicked,” he breathed, stepping forward to survey the keypad.  “I didn’t know they had these here.”

Loki was just going to ask what he meant when Stark began to press the buttons. 

Maria grabbed his hands.  “What are you doing?” she hissed. 

 “I _was_ getting you the key for your little heist, but right now I may or may not be enjoying holding your hand,” Stark said, fluttering his eyelashes at her. 

Loki rolled his eyes, but said, “He knows what he is doing, Maria.”

Maria dropped Stark’s hands with a glare, and Stark went back to his typing.  After a few moments, they heard a tiny click.  The wing of the eagle fell forward slightly, revealing a small compartment. 

Loki’s shabby cigar box was there, along with several leather folders with what Loki presumed were important papers inside. 

Also inside, there were several stacks of German currency, and another box.  This box was small and thin and made of dark varnished wood.  He opened the small brass clasp and flipped open the lid to reveal a shiny silver key on a wine-colored velvet interior. 

Loki felt a triumphant smile stretch his face.  He tucked the key into his breast pocket and closed the box, setting it back in the compartment. 

“What about the cigar box?” Stark asked.  “Are we taking that with us?”

Loki considered.  Taking the cigar box would point to Loki as the thief, but leaving it would mean the Kommandant could possibly crack open the broach to reveal the transmitter and know that Loki was the culprit anyway. He shrugged.  “Do the Nazis have that technology?” He asked.

Stark shrugged.  “Not as good as I make it.”

“Then we will take it with us,” Loki said, pulling the broach out of the cigar box and tucking it beside the key in his pocket. 

Maria reached out and took the German currency.  Loki gave her a sharp look, but it was Stark who asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

“If he notices the money is missing, he will look for the culprit of that theft.  It may distract him from looking inside the key’s box.  He will think he is looking for a thief rather than a spy,” she said calmly, tucking the money into her pockets.  “Also, I can give this money to the Resistance.  They need funds.”

“What happens if he sees the money is missing and searches the rest of the compartment to see if anything else is missing?”  Loki asked, a bit of venom sneaking into his voice.

“He will not look into the compartment until after you have escaped.  You will have plenty of time to get the tesseract and escape.  And the Resistance will be richer by about ten thousand dollars,” she said, moving on to the leather files of papers.  She removed them carefully, spreading out the papers over the desk and removing a tiny camera from her boot.  Maria began photographing the files systematically, putting each page back in its appropriate order and then replacing the files in the compartment.

“What happens if he alerts them before Loki and them get there?” Stark asked.   Loki was almost touched by the concern.  Almost. 

Maria looked up from her photographs for a second.  “Well, they will have to be careful, I suppose,” she said, voice and face impassive.

Stark looked taken aback by her callousness.  But then again, he was an engineer first, a soldier second, and never a spy.  He had not even met Natasha.  He did not know how their world worked. 

Loki said nothing, waiting patiently as Maria finished her photographs and they replaced everything inside the eagle.  They closed the compartment, hid the keypad behind the head of the eagle once more and gave one more glance over the office to ascertain it was exactly as they had found it. 

A moment later they were closing the door silently behind them and sneaking back into the prison camp.

***

Kommandant Kurt Kuntz was just sipping his favorite afternoon brandy when Lieutenant Schultz tapped on the door to his office.  He set down the snifter with a sigh. 

“What is it, Lieutenant?” He asked.  Schultz stepped into the office. 

“There is a prisoner who wishes to see you.  I thought it best to send him in,” Schultz said.  From the look on the usually cheery man’s face, it was serious indeed.  Kommandant Kuntz had never been the type of commander to abhor creative thought in his underlings—that was simply counterproductive to running an efficient operation—and his soldiers knew they could come to him with their own ideas.  Schultz was a good man, and if he thought a soldier needed to be heard, than Kuntz would hear him.

Kuntz nodded.  “Yes, send him in, Lieutenant.”

Schultz opened the door again and gestured for the prisoner to enter.

Kommandant Kuntz tried not to sneer as the oily little man sauntered into the office and slumped into one of the chairs without being asked.  It was impudence of the worst sort, and Kuntz would never regularly tolerate it.  A look at Schultz’s grave face was the only thing stopping him from throwing the prisoner out on his backside for his insolence.  

Instead, he smiled at the prisoner and said, “I understand you wished to speak with me, Staff Sergeant.  What can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you,” Justin Hammer said with a weaselly little smile on his face.  “There’s going to be an escape.  And I know where the tunnel comes out.”

 The Kommandant leaned forward.  “Go on,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	31. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

Steve tapped his fingers impatiently in time with the ticks of his watch.  It was nearly eleven-thirty—they had agreed to open the tunnel at midnight—and it seemed like time was slowing down the closer they got to the deadline. 

Escapees had been arriving since ten, sneaking into Hut 1 in groups of ten or so every five minutes.  Selvig and Steve had put together bundles for them with civilian clothes and identification—even some money. As each prisoner checked in, someone would hand them what looked like a hobo’s bindle full of supplies. 

Once out of the tunnel, the prisoners would set out in groups ranging in number from five to twenty, each taking a different route to safety.  Steve, as well as Rhodes, Tony, and a few other escapees would be taking the train out of Hammelburg station towards Switzerland. 

Steve glanced at Tony.  The man had been increasingly temperamental as the escape approached—even more than the rest of the escapees. At the moment, the only reason Steve knew Stark wasn’t jumping out of his skin was because the Doc had prescribed about a half a bottle of scotch.  Tony had taken his medicine and then some and was currently snoozing in Steve’s bunk. 

Steve checked his watch again.  There still was about fifteen minutes until they opened the tunnel, so he stood up and said in a loud whisper:  “Alright, men, let’s form up.”

The men who had been lounging around the hut in clumps and clusters began to form themselves into a winding line that started at the tunnel opening and twisted between the bunks in a serpentine fashion.  Steve watched and was glad they had decided to do a lottery for order most of the order.  He and Tony were the first ones through—mostly as a cautionary measure—but after that had been a random selection. Each man had reached into a hat and pulled out a number from one to two hundred and forty-seven and thus received their place in line. 

As the men shuffled and shoved as they got into their assigned places, Steve couldn’t imagine what it the room would resemble if they had let the men choose their own order.  Besides, it’d seemed a fairer choice, considering nearly everyone in the camp was involved in the building of the tunnel in one way or another. 

Steve walked over to his bunk to shake Tony awake.  “Come on, Stark,” he whispered.  “We got to get going.” 

Stark sat up immediately.  It made Steve wonder if he’d actually been sleeping at all.  He looked unfocused and disoriented, but that could be both the liquor or from sleep. 

Tony looked at Steve confusedly.  “Why aren’t you in the hole?  I thought you were going to break ground.”

Steve shrugged.  “Rhodes is doing it for me,” he said.  He didn’t mention the reason, though he doubted Tony needed the hint.

Tony nodded slowly, but the small movement seemed to ignite the need for more movement, and soon his entire body was swaying slightly.  Steve reached out and steadied him.  Tony shot him a warning look and Steve retracted his hand.  Tony maneuvered himself so he was sitting with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

“I’ll have Banner’s medical license for his,” Tony said digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“I don’t think he technically has one,” Steve pointed out.  “It’s just an army certification.”

Tony waved his hand carelessly.  “Whatever he has, I’ll have it.  Who gives a man liquor just before he pulls off an escape?”

 _Someone who wanted their claustrophobic patient to be as calm as possible when he traverses one hundred feet of two-foot square tunnel_ , Steve answered in his head. Out loud he said, “Well, you can write him a letter from Stateside illuminating the error of his ways.”

Tony glared again.  Steve was beginning to be able to discern the tiny nuances in the meaning of Tony’s glares.  This one was, “You’re much too optimistic and cheerful when I’m drunk verging on hungover.”    

Steve just smiled affably and Tony dropped his head into his hands again. 

From the front of the line, beside the stove, Fury called, “Midnight in sixty seconds.  Ready yourselves.”

The escapees shuffled their feet excitedly and shouldered their bundles of clothes.  Steve checked his sack once more for everything and then Tony’s as well. 

“Ready, Stark?” he asked.  Tony nodded slowly. 

***

Tony knew what Steve was doing.  The man was a mother hen in the truest sense of the word.  Unfortunately, it seemed to be working, and Tony knew that if he said the word it would stop.  So he remained silent as Steve shepherded him to the front of the line. 

Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, in what could have been camaraderie, but was actually something like comfort.  Tony knew he should probably be insulted that Steve thought he couldn’t handle the tunnel all alone, but he wasn’t.  Mostly because he really couldn’t handle the tunnel all on his own. 

The open mouth of the hole yawned before him, wide and ready to swallow him down forever.  Tony suddenly wished Bruce had let him take the bottle with him.  Steve’s hand on his shoulder suddenly felt like the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Midnight,” Fury announced, his eye on his pocket watch. “Good bye and good luck, soldiers.” Tony nodded to the man as he took a deep breath and began to descend the ladder.

Fury wasn’t escaping with them.  Tony had been surprised when he’d learned that. 

“Don’t tell me you have a girlfriend in Hammelburg, too, Fury,” he’d said when the Colonel had declined a place in the line. 

Fury had given him a condescending look. “I wouldn’t risk my old bones in that tunnel,” he’d said, with a significant look at Tony.  Just when Tony was beginning to sweat, the Colonel had smirked and continued, “Besides, somebody’s got to keep Banner company.”

Tony had known better than to ask Bruce whether he would be coming.  The man had a reputation with the Kommandant to uphold and he couldn't risk being caught.  But he was still a bit disappointed to leave him behind. 

“Look me up after the war,” Bruce had said when they’d said goodbye over half a bottle of calming scotch.  “We can reminisce over drinks.”

“Drinks yes, but I think we can skip the reminiscences,” Tony had replied, looking around the shabby Med-Bay.  “I haven’t liked this place nearly enough to risk a second visit via memory lane.”

Bruce had smiled and they’d clinked their tin mugs together in a pathetic little toast.

Surprisingly enough, Hammer hadn't demanded a position in line, either.  Tony had thought the little rat would try to connive his way into the escape based on his shoddy work on the tunnel.  The man hadn't even tried, though.  It was oddly plain of him, and if Tony had room for any more worries in his head, he'd worry about that.

Tony reached the bottom of the hole.  It wasn’t so bad.  He was fine.  He could feel the cool air of the Hut on the back of his neck as he looked around the tiny chamber at the base of the hole.  It was tight—he could reach out his arms and touch both facing walls with his fingertips—but it wasn’t like the suit had been.  It would be fine.

Tony nearly had a heart attack when a sudden noise came from above him.  Then he looked up to see Steve climbing down after him.  He gave the man a dark look.

“As if I wasn’t scared enough,” he muttered. 

“Sorry,” Steve answered, looking like he meant it.  “I slipped.”

Steve reached the bottom of the hole and stood beside Tony.  The chamber felt much smaller all of a sudden.  Steve seemed to notice, because he backed up as much as he could, pressing himself against the wall.

“You alright?” He asked. 

Tony didn’t bother to answer.  No, he was not alright.  He was underground, in an unbearably close environment, made even more unbearably stifling by someone who asked stupid questions like if he was “alright.”  No, he was the furthest thing from alright.  But he’d never let that stop him before, and he certainly wasn’t now, with the hopes of two hundred and fifty men on his shoulders. 

Tony squared said shoulders and looked at the tunnel.  The chamber was maybe eight feet by six, but the tunnel was only two by two.  You traversed it on a wheeled cart propelled by a man-operated pulley system.  Each escapee would man the pulley system and wheel the man in front of him to the opening in the forest. As Tony was first, he wouldn’t actually have to operate the system.  He just had to ride the cart through the tunnel to another chamber—this one under the forest.

Tony took another deep breath and laid himself face-down on the cart with his bundle held in front of him.  Steve gave him a confident nod—the man was far too optimistic to be a soldier—and began winching Tony through the tunnel.

It was nothing like the cabinet.  It was so much worse. 

The motion of the cart reminded him of the trundle of the trucks as they transported him from one camp to the next, blind and immobile in the suit.  The tunnel was so tight his shoulders brushed the sides every once in a while, making him long to stretch out his arms, to lash out at the walls around him. 

He focused on suppressing the urge and instead catalogued the differences.  He could see.  Tony had managed to talk one of the diggers through hooking up the electrical lights he’d stolen from the guard's offices to the camp’s power grid.  The tunnel was well illuminated.  Also, he could move, even if it was only kicking his legs slightly.  That was more motion than the suit had allowed him.  And finally, he was getting out.  He knew he was getting out.  Fury had timed a ride and it should take under a minute if they wanted to get all two-hundred fifty out by dawn.

It was alright, it was alright, it was alright, he told himself in a mantra of Steve’s optimistic voice.  But it wasn’t alright, this ride was never going to end, he was going to be stuck in this tiny moving place for the rest of his life.  That was if the tunnel didn’t collapse on him first. 

Tony could feel himself breathing fast, the motion of his lungs rocking his body up and down.  He was clutching his bundle in whitened, trembling fingers.  The burn on his chest that had healed days ago suddenly felt like it was seering where it pressed against the cart.

Just when he was sure he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, that he would have to lash out at the walls and bring the tunnel down on his head, the track ended.  Tony took a deep breath and reached behind him to pull twice sharply on the cord so Steve would know to pull it back and crawled forward until the tunnel opened up to another small chamber.

Tony stood up so quickly his back scraped the top of the tunnel opening, but he didn’t care, he was out, he could stretch and after the tunnel, the chamber seemed like the roomiest place on earth, even if Rhodey was already there. 

Tony nodded a shaky greeting that Rhodey returned.  They didn’t speak—the tunnel would be open to the air above them and they wouldn’t want a passing patrol to hear them chatting away like biddies in the hair parlor—but Rhodey looked glad  to see him.

A soft trundling noise came from the tunnel behind Tony and he turned to see Steve squeezing himself out of the opening.  Tony grinned giddily.  If it had been tight for him, it would be like sucking a pea through a straw for Steve.

Steve caught his grin, and smiled back. 

“Alright?” Steve asked in a murmur.

“Alright,” Tony answered in a low tone.  Rhodey was looking from one to the other like he knew he was missing something, but wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what. 

“Oookay,” Rhodes said slowly.  “You boys ready to get out of this gin joint?”

Steve and Tony nodded silently.  Rhodes grinned and began to climb the ladder to the top, with Steve and Tony right behind him. 

***

Steve was halfway out of the tunnel when he saw the Nazi.  The man had already knocked Rhodes out—probably a kick to the head—and was swinging for Steve.  All the Captain could think was that he should warn Tony, shout so no one else was caught, and his month was half open to do so when the suddenly the Nazi wasn’t swinging anymore.  He was falling over like a chopped tree and hitting the ground with a muffled thump. 

Steve stared at the fallen guard for a moment before looking up at the dark figure that had felled him.  The figure stepped forward and the shadows that had hidden his face from view moved and—

“ _Phil?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...Coulson lives. Of course he does. And just so you guys know, I thought about ending with Steve just seeing the guard and thinking they were caught, but I didn't. Because I can be nice sometimes. Also, next chapter is a Loki chapter, and I wouldn't leave you in the lurch for an entire week. Not with a cliffie that big.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	32. The Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

Peter and Loki walked purposefully towards the door of the Hitler Youth Hall, looking straight ahead into the setting sun. Loki had told Peter to keep his eyes on the sunset only, so they wouldn’t be tempted to stray to where Clint was perched in a nearby apartment building with his bow, providing cover should anything go wrong, and now the younger man had multicolored spots in his vision from the setting sun.

It felt odd, Peter thought, to be walking around on the outside without constantly looking over his shoulder, certain he’d be recognized and hauled back to the camp. That fear hadn’t subsided any, but Loki had forbidden him from looking anything other than confident. According to him, nothing was more tempting to predators than prey-like behavior, especially when the prey was wearing wolves’ clothing.

Peter picked at the inside of his cuff. They were, figuratively, in wolves’ clothing. At least in the sense that Maria Hill had procured German uniforms for them from the laundry, and they were now attired as a Nazi Soldat and his younger brother from the Hitler Youth.

Loki had scowled when Maria brought out the Soldat uniform. 

“I am too old for that,” he’d said, glaring at the offending uniform. 

Maria had shrugged. “It is the only one that will fit you, beanpole,” she’d said. 

Loki had explained later that Soldats roughly translated, were soldiers. But after twelve months of service Soldats automatically were promoted to Obersoldat. For someone as old as Loki (Peter guessed he was close to thirty years old) to still be a Soldat would suggest that he had been reluctant to join up, and thus likely raise suspicions. 

“You will just have to be younger,” was Maria’s only advice. “Besides, at least it comes with a gun.”

And Loki was younger, Peter thought, looking at the man out of the corner of his eye. Peter couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly it was, but the man seemed to have taken ten years off his body. Maybe it was the way he let his hair flop into his eyes instead of combing it sharply back. Or perhaps it was the way he arranged his face so it was looser, more relaxed, and easier to smile. Or maybe it was his entire body, the way he slumped a bit as he walked, his shoulders became hunched and he somehow seemed both self-conscious and cocky.

Whatever it was, he looked like an overgrown adolescent and hardly dangerous, and would help explain why he was visiting a Hitler Youth rally. A young soldier on leave would be more likely to accompany his brother still in the HJ to show off his new uniform and rank. Peter just hoped it would fool everyone else.

Peter and Loki’s reconnaissance had revealed it was the only building with a subterranean floor and thus the only place the tesseract could be hidden. It was also surprisingly lacking in guards. The Germans probably thought the secrecy and oddness of the location was enough and didn’t want to spare manpower on it, Peter thought.

They had also found a calendar of Hitler Youth events and been able to schedule accordingly. Luckily, there was a bonfire planned for tonight that would bring together several Hitler Youth organizations from other towns. This would explain the presence of a few new faces, as well as assure that most of the organization would be out of the building and in the field of the bonfire. The overnight trip would also explain the knapsack Peter wore over his shoulder that would later be used to smuggle the tesseract out of the facility. It was an ideal situation.  
It was nearly dusk by the time they reached the Facility’s main building. They could see the boys filing out of the building towards the field as they opened the doors and entered the building. 

The building had been a church before it was repurposed into a Hitler Youth Hall and the front doors opened into a large room that had been the sanctuary. Inside, stragglers leaned against the walls, waiting for their friends. 

Loki strode confidently through the clumps of boys toward the door marked “Keller.”

Peter followed silently, trying to look as innocent as possible, and feeling very much like a duckling.

They got to the door, someone tugged on Peter’s shirt sleeve. He turned around and found himself facing a tall, round faced boy of about his same age. The boy frowned at him. 

“Wo gehst du hin?”* the boy asked, towering over him.

Peter tried not to flounder obviously. _Not prey, not prey, not prey,_ he thought furiously. He could tell from the boy’s inflection that it was a question, but he was sure any answer would give him away as an imposter. He was considering taking the chance when he felt Loki’s hand on his shoulder.

“Der Keller.”* Loki’s voice came from behind him. The man sounded bored, but Peter noticed a slight edge of confrontation in his voice. Loki had straightened out of his slouch, but puffing out his chest obviously to display the rank on his uniform. “Johann hat uns gebeten, die Fahnen zu holen.”*

The round-faced boy’s eyes went from Peter to Loki back to Peter again. He seemed to weigh his choices. 

After a moment the boy nodded and let go of Peter’s sleeve. “Komm nicht zu spät,”* he said slowly. 

Loki shrugged lazily and steered Peter through the door to the basement. Loki closed the door behind them and shot Peter a smile that Peter was sure was meant to be reassuring, but looked more relieved than anything. Peter still found himself grinning back. 

They began descending the staircase into the cool air of the cellar. 

The place was filled with metal shelves stuffed with the detritus that any organization accumulated. Boxes lined the walls and banners were leant against the wall. It didn’t look like the sort of place to store a powerful artifact. 

Peter knew from their reconnaissance that such looks were deceiving. In the very back of the basement was a large metal door, much like the door to a bank vault. This, they were sure, was where the tesseract was kept.

Loki and Peter slipped past the shelves and stood in front of the door. Loki drew the key out of his breast pocket and slipped it into the keyhole. 

“Moment of truth,” Peter murmured. Loki huffed in agreement. 

The older man took a deep breath and turned the key. 

A click echoed through the cellar and the two men grinned at each other. 

Loki took ahold of the lever and turned it, opening the heavy steel door with a hiss. Behind the door was what looked like a series of metal cabinets. Loki surveyed the cabinets for a second before saying, “You start on the right; I will do the left.”

Peter nodded and began opening doors. Most of the cabinets contained folders filled with documents. Several had boxes, though, and one was full of gold ingots. Peter blinked and closed the cabinet, and moved on to the next.

Peter heard a soft inhalation of breath and looked over to Loki. The cabinet he’d opened seemed to be emitting a blue glow, because it had lit his face with its watery light. The effect was quite spooky, Peter thought, like the cabinet had turned Loki into a ghost or specter. 

He leaned over to see what Loki was looking at. 

It was the tesseract; he was sure. It was blue cube in a clear cylindrical container. The box itself was slightly transparent, with a swirling, iridescent light inside it. Looking at it made Peter feel slightly nauseous, the moving lights and blue glow making him seasick.  
He looked away, at Loki’s face. The man hadn’t looked away from the cube, staring at it with such an intense gaze it made Peter nervous. He nudged Loki’s side. 

“Come on,” he whispered as Loki shook himself. “We don’t have time to admire the goods.”

Loki nodded and loaded the cube and its container into Peter’s knapsack. 

“Ready?” Peter asked. Loki nodded. 

“Let us leave this place,” the Lieutenant said with a smile. “I am looking forward to seeing Natasha at the train station.”

Peter nodded, trying not to feel gleeful. 

They turned and retraced their steps, climbing the stairs and opening the door to the large, open room, only to find themselves faced with the barrel of a rifle.

***

Loki looked from the barrel of the rifle to the boy holding it. It was the same round-faced young man as before, the one who had questioned Peter. 

“I knew you were lying about the flags,” the boy muttered in German. Oh good, thought Loki. At least he wasn’t a true guard. That was better, was it not? He was just a highly intuitive child with a gun. 

No, that was not an improvement, Loki decided. 

Loki shrugged nonchalantly, still in character as a young Soldat. “We found some cigarettes to smoke, and did not wish to be scolded by the leaders,” he responded easily, also in German.

The young man held out his hand. “Hand over the contraband, then.”

Dammit. The child was too smart for his own good. 

“Smoked the last one.”

“You are lying again. What were you really doing down there?”

The boy’s finger was on the trigger, and the barrel was pointed straight at Peter. Loki glanced at the window. They were not at the right angle for Barton to shoot the boy. He was not sure the archer would, regardless. He was just a _boy._

The boy’s finger was on the trigger, but there was sweat on his brow. Hesitation. The boy did not have the stomach for such things. Loki was willing to bet he could take the luger on his hip out of its holster and shoot the boy between the eyes before the boy fired that rifle. The child was not a killer, and Loki had been an assassin before he had become a soldier. He had no hesitation in him.

“We were only having a look around,” Loki said, gesturing with his hand. The boy followed the motion of the gesturing hand and missed Loki drawing his gun and aiming it at him.

The boy looked back to the other hand and his eyes widened. His grip did not slacken on the rifle, however. 

“Loki…” Peter said slowly in a warning voice. Loki ignored him.

“Put down the rifle,” he said to the boy. “I do not wish to shoot you.” He really did not. The boy was a child. A _child._ He had been an assassin, but at least in that business he could console himself with the thought that if they were on the list of those to be killed, there was most likely a reason for them to be there. This was a young man who thought he was protecting his country, his friends. His only crime was wishing to be a hero.

The boy squared his shoulders stubbornly. “I could say the same to you,” he said, his voice barely wavering. “But it will not stop me.”

“Loki…” Peter said again, more urgently. Loki ignored him again.

“Nor will your youth stop me,” Loki said, and he was not entirely sure if it was a lie or not. He tried not to imagine the boy’s mother, siblings. Another family that he would break apart. He grasped at the edges of his objectivity. He could make this shot. 

The boy thought he was a hero, but the tesseract would be safer in allied hands. Loki was the hero. Loki was saving lives, stealing this artifact. Loki could not let the life of a single person stand in his way, regardless of age.

“Loki!” 

Loki took his eyes off of the boy to glance at Peter. 

Looking at the younger man—looking so similar to the boy in his Hitler Youth uniform—he knew in that instant that he could not do it. He could not pull the trigger. Not even to save the earth. 

Loki took a deep breath and lowered his luger. The boy looked relieved. 

“Hand it over,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Loki did as he said, shooting a glance over at Peter. What on earth were they going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffie, I know. I'm sorry, but it was a natural break. We'll find out what happens next with Loki on Thursday, though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Author's Notes:  
> Peter hears German in German because he doesn't know the language, and Loki hears it in English because he does. But just FYI the dialogue goes:  
> Boy: Where are you going?  
> Loki: The cellar. Johann asked us to bring the flags.  
> Boy: Don't be late. 
> 
> If you see any mistakes in my German, please let me know. It's been ages since I studied it in school.


	33. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

Clint checked his watch. This was taking too long. They should have been out of the Hitler Youth Hall long ago. After all, how long did it take to liberate a six-inch by six-inch cube when the only guards of said cube were a bunch of kids still in knee-socks? 

Clint pulled out his binoculars and peered through the hall windows. No movement.

Something had gone wrong. He was sure of it. And if Loki and Peter weren’t out of there in half an hour, then the leaders would return to the Hitler Youth Hall and find two Allied spies dressed as Nazis stealing what amounted to a doomsday device.

Clint chewed at the inside of his cheek. He knew what he had to do. Natasha had planned for a situation like this. She’d left it up to him to make the call. All he had to do was make it. 

Clint sighed as he knocked an arrow and fired into the air. There went his chance of getting out of this war with his skin intact.

***

Peter was not exactly panicked. Not really. His heart was beating hard and fast and he was covered all over in a cold sweat, but he wasn’t panicked. He was still thinking clearly. Clearly enough to see that they were in deep trouble and that he really _really_ needed to think of a way out of it. 

Peter wanted to growl in frustration. He needed to jolt his sluggish brain into gear, but nothing was helping. There were no weapons nearby, no way of disarming the boy without risking having a limb blown off. Nothing.

It also didn’t help that he was currently being tied to a chair by Loki under the instruction of the round-faced boy. 

He watched as Loki tied his hands for the third time. The first two times he had tried two different kinds of trick knots—the kind that looked complicated and binding, but came loose with one tug of the ends—but it seemed the boy new the difference between good and bad knots. He’d probably been a Boy Scout, Peter thought bitterly. Peter knew this knot would hold him. 

Loki seemed to be...well, Peter didn’t know what to call it. He had that blank face on that meant he was hiding a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. 

This was all Peter’s fault. He should have just kept his mouth shut. He should have just stood aside and let Loki get them out of this situation, even if it meant shooting a kid. After all, the kid had a gun. That meant something, right?

But no, he knew better than that. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. That’s what Aunt May had told him when Uncle Ben was murdered in broad daylight with an entire neighborhood of people not willing to call the police, or a doctor, or even just hold his hand as he bled on the sidewalk, his pockets pulled inside out and flapping in the breeze.

That was also what Peter had told Aunt May when he joined the army, and she’d sobbed on his shoulder and beat on his chest and told him that it wasn’t his responsibility to go to war. But it was his responsibility. It was the responsibility of every person to do what they thought was right. To stand up for the right thing, just like those people in that neighborhood hadn’t. Peter wasn’t going to be one of those people. Not ever. And he knew Loki didn’t want to be one either.

Peter was not naïve. He knew Loki had a past that would probably give him more nightmares than Boris Karloff had when he and Harry snuck in to see _The Mummy._ But he knew Loki. And Loki had been killing himself before in every sense of the word. It didn’t matter what he did, because he wasn’t really planning on having to live with himself for much longer. He was always just a step away from the edge.

Peter liked to think he was over that now. Loki was living with his decisions now, for better or worse. That decision would have been worst. And he would have shattered if he’d pulled that trigger.

Peter shook himself. This wasn’t helping. This was doing the opposite of helping. It was distracting him from thinking of a way out of this damned situation. 

Maybe he could distract the boy somehow, or use the chair to his advantage somehow. Loki was always going on about using weaknesses as strengths.

Loki finished tying the knot and the boy directed him to the other chair. This seemed to be where the boy ran out of ideas. There was only so much you could learn from The Hardy Boys (or whatever the German equivalent was) about the logistics of tying up a prisoner whilst also aiming at them with a rifle.

Loki was saying something in German. He gestured from himself to the door and back to Peter. Peter frowned in confusion for a second and then—no. No. Loki was trying to persuade the boy to take Loki with him to the leaders in the bonfire. He was going to leave Peter alone in the HJ Hall, presumably so Clint would see Loki leaving and come and rescue Peter and the tesseract. 

But Peter didn’t want to be rescued, at least not alone. He tried to catch Loki’s eye and communicate that, but either the man was concentration on his con, or refusing to look at him for precisely that reason.

The boy didn’t seem too keen on that idea either. He shook his head firmly, gesturing at Loki to go back to the chair. Loki took another step towards the boy, still talking in rapid German. 

“Sie sollten—“ 

The boy, seemingly frustrated by Loki’s resistance, pointed the barrel of the rifle at him. 

“Den Mund halten.” 

Loki put his hands in the air, but continued talking—a steady chain of foreign words that Peter couldn’t understand, but could tell were meant to persuade.

This time the boy tried to interrupt him a number of times, and each time he was ignored, he seemed to grow angrier. 

“Nein, nein, nein,” the boy shook his head hard, gesturing with the rifle. “Den Mund halten!”

A report echoed through the hall and Peter screamed. 

***

Loki stopped breathing for a fraction of a second when the bang reverberated through the hall. For a split second, he was sure he had been wrong about the boy and he’d been shot for the mistake. But a look at the boy’s face revealed the same shock he was sure was displayed upon his own. 

Loki took advantage of the boy’s surprise and wrenched the rifle out of his hands and cracking him on the back of the head with it. The boy went down like a sack of potatoes, unconscious. Loki relieved him of the luger nonetheless. 

That done, Loki looked up to see his rescuers—who had obviously banged open the door and nearly given them all heart attacks—and promptly felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. A mountain of a man thundered towards him and Loki knew he was doomed. 

***

Peter had nearly fainted when he’d thought Loki was shot. He was very glad he didn’t, because the next thing he knew, Loki had knocked out and disarmed the kid only to be attacked by a huge blond man and his four friends. 

Only, Peter noticed, attacked didn’t seem to be apt. Because the blond man had swept Loki up into a bone-crushing embrace, yes, but also seemed to be crying on his shoulder. Manfully, somehow. 

Peter looked at the man’s companions and the dark-haired woman among them. Ah. This was awkward.

Sif skirted around Loki and who could only be the brother—Thor—and towards Peter.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked incredulously. 

“Natasha asked us to be ready in case anything terrible occurred,” Sif said easily. “And Barton signaled us that our aid was needed. And here we are.”

Peter made a mental note to hate Natasha for the rest of his life. This was just embarrassing, being rescued by someone he had pledged to hate.

“You look as though you could use some assistance, young Peter,” Sif said, smirking. 

Peter glared at her. 

“I would’ve figured something out,” he grumbled as she began to saw off his ropes with her old-fashioned knife.

“Of course you would have!” said the, frankly, fat, but cheerful man behind her. “You are obviously a great warrior.”

Peter only scowled more. “You don’t have to patronize me. I know it was stupid to get caught.” 

The one with the moustache laughed at that. “He is exactly like Loki at that age,” he remarked to Sif. “I was sure it was impossible, but here he is, using three-syllable words to insult his rescuers.”

Sif finished cutting him free and Peter considered using his new movement to sock each of them on the jaw. He decided against it, because, while it would be satisfying, it was unlikely they would line up nicely for him to punch. 

The third man—who hadn’t said anything thus far, and therefore was Peter’s favorite—finally spoke. He nudged Peter’s shoulder and nodded toward the two brothers. 

“You might wish to join them. I am sure Loki would like to introduce you,” the dark-haired man said. 

Peter frowned in confusion at the last of Thor’s friends. The dark-haired man stared back impassively. Peter shrugged and walked over. 

***

There was a moment when Loki first saw Thor coming through the door of the hall where Loki did not immediately feel anger or loss or guilt or any of the complicated mess of emotions he had been feeling towards Thor for nearly a year. All he felt was the overwhelming relief of a saved man. 

It was only after that moment of relief that the tangle of other emotions surged to the surface. But there was still a thread of relief, as well as…hope, and affection, and jealously, and so many other things that made it so hard not to see Thor as family.

It was that moment that Loki realized that Thor was not slowing down and he had a moment to fill his lungs before Thor swept him into a hug that lifted him off his feet. Loki’s arms were pinned to his sides, so at least he was spared the choice of returning the embrace or not. 

“Thor,” he gasped as he felt his ribs strain against the pressure. “Thor, please. I need to breathe.”

Thor immediately set Loki back on his feet, moving his hands to Loki’s shoulders as he looked his brother up and down. Thor wiped his eyes and Loki saw that—that Thor had been weeping. Thor was still weeping, and holding onto Loki’s shoulders with a death grip. Thor had been…worried about him? Missing him? Glad to see him? And he was weeping copiously and without shame.

Loki tried not to allow any of the shock of this revelation to show on his face. It was one thing to know that his brother still considered him family when it was written in cold black ink, it was a very different matter to see it demonstrated so…physically. 

Thor sniffed again. “Brother, are you unharmed?” He asked, his voice rough from crying. 

Loki nodded mutely, unable to trust his own voice to remain steady. Thor’s reaction seemed to be provoking a similar one in him, and he dashed scrubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Peter cleared his throat behind Thor and Loki shot him a grateful glance. 

“Ah, Peter,” he said, gratified that his voice seemed to be over the emotion of the day. “Thor, this is Private First Class Peter Parker. Peter, this is Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard.”

Peter and Thor both nodded, seeming to size each other up. 

“Your brother,” Peter said, not quite making it a question. 

Loki nodded minutely. “My brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	34. Onwards and Upwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil explains his absence.

_“Phil?”_

Steve looked up at the man in shock.  This—this was impossible.  This simply wasn’t happening.  He was hallucinating that the ghost of Phil Coulson had saved him from the guards. His mouth opened and closed silently as he looked at the specter blankly.

Phil smiled—and Steve knew he was imagining this, because Phil never smiled, not like he was doing now, all broad and obvious. 

“You alright, Captain Rogers?” Phil’s ghost asked, still smiling that impossible smile. 

Steve nodded silently.  Tony was poking curiously at his legs, and Steve suddenly began climbing again.  Phil held out a hand to help him to his feet.  Steve took it hesitantly and was a bit startled when it was solid. 

Tony climbed up next, doing a surprised double-take when he saw Phil beside the hole.  He recovered quickly—much quicker than Steve—and gave the man a nod before stepping over to make sure Rhodes was alright.  Steve felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t checked on the man the minute he was out of the hole.  Tony seemed to have it in hand nonetheless.

He looked at Phil again.  The man was standing in the shadows next to the fallen Nazi—more questions Steve needed to ask as soon as his mouth unfroze—as casually as if he were waiting for a bus or reading the newspaper. 

He turned to the other two men.  Tony was reviving Rhodes with a couple light shakes and a hand over the man’s mouth.  Rhodes had a lump forming just above his left ear, but he seemed alright, if a bit unsteady on his feet. 

Tony took his arm and Phil nodded.  “Ready?”

“You’re coming with us?” Steve asked, finally regaining his voice. 

Phil nodded.  “You’re still slated to go to the train station, right?”

The three of them nodded. 

“Good.  I need to get there as well,” Phil said.

Steve opened his mouth to ask more, but Phil raised his hand.  “Save it.  We should stay quiet.  I think I got all the guards nearby, but, well, better safe than sorry.” 

Steve nodded.  “We should warn the rest,” he said, looking back at the tunnel exit.  The next few prisoners should be coming in five minutes.  Phil shook his head. 

“We need to get out of here.  The Kommandant knows there’s an escape, and where it lets out.  They wanted to cut it off at the exit, but he’ll get suspicious when he doesn’t get word from his men.  We need to go now.”

Steve shook his head.  “It will only take ten minutes and if we get a message to them, they can tell Fury and he can hide as many of the supplies we didn’t take as possible.”

Phil frowned unhappily, but gave in.  They waited a few moments for the next man. 

Steve relayed the message and the man nodded, scribbling a note to send back through the tunnel on the cart.  He handed it down the tunnel and then departed, heading towards the countryside. 

Phil, Tony, Rhodes and Steve set out through the forest toward Hammelburg.  Phil led the way, stepping confidently through the forest.  Tony and Rhodes followed, Rhodes leaning slightly on Tony’s arm. 

Tony was doing much better than he had been.  He’d seemed alright in the second chamber, if a bit giddy from the trip through the tunnel, but now, on solid ground, he looked even better. Proud, even.  Steve couldn’t blame him.  It’d taken a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for Tony to work up to going through that tunnel.  Steve hadn’t been completely sure Tony would make it.  He’d half expected the man not to turn up tonight. 

But he had, and Steve knew that took a great deal of courage.  He was proud of Tony for that. 

Phil had reached where the forest met the town and stopped. 

“You’ll want to change, here,” he said quietly. 

Steve nodded.  Tony, Rhodes, and he were still in their uniforms.  It wasn’t prudent to wear their nice civilian clothes through the tunnel.  They would only dirty the clothing and draw attention to themselves.  Instead, they’d bundled up their clothes and gone through in their uniforms. 

On the other hand, when one was caught in a uniform, one was a POW and thus went to the stalags.  When one was caught in civilian clothes, one was a spy and thus went to interrogation, likely never to return.  This was why it was best to wait until the last possible moment to change into their disguises. 

The three of them unpacked their bundles and began to change.  Steve noticed that Phil was already in a pair of dark trousers, a simple shirt, and boots.  The kind of outfit that could be worn by almost anyone—a business man in the country on holiday, or a farmer going to town for supplies. 

Tony, Steve, and Rhodes had simple clothing as well.  Tony a dark blue suit and dress shoes, Rhodes a pair of dark trousers and a button-up shirt with a bow tie and flat cap and Steve a black suit with a red tie.  Each outfit matched their tickets—Steve and Tony had obtained first-class tickets, while Rhodes had a second-class one. 

“So,” said Tony as he began to shuck his uniform.  It seemed he was too impatient to wait until they were at the train station, or better yet, on the train.  But Steve was just as curious as well, so he didn’t say anything.  “You’re not dead.  That’s…new.”

Phil did the not-quite smile to which Steve had been accustomed before the—well, before the collapse.

“Yes,” Phil said simply.

“Uh,” Tony said.  “What’s that about?”

Phil leaned against a tree.  “It will probably not come as a surprise to you that I was here on behalf of Military Intelligence.”

Tony shrugged.  He’d obviously guessed. Steve hadn’t.

Steve was tempted to throw his hands in the air and shout _Another one!?_ at the top of his lungs.  Really, after Loki and Natasha and then Maria/Margrit, Steve was beginning to wonder if there was a single person in the camp that wasn’t a spy.  Next thing he’d know, Fury would be confessing to being involved in espionage.

“I was placed with Maria Hill doing basically the same job as Loki and Natasha.  Our job was to infiltrate the camp with the end goal of finding the tesseract,” Phil said. 

Steve frowned.  “Why were two teams sent with the same objective?” he asked.  It didn’t seem like a sound tactical plan. 

Phil’s expression was rueful.  “We weren’t sent by the same places.  Natasha and Loki are British Intelligence.  Special Operations Executive, I’d guess.  Maria and I are American Military Intelligence.  It shouldn’t matter since we’ve allied ourselves, but when something this big is in the balance, well, everyone wants their piece of the pie.  We didn’t know there was a team from Britain, and I doubt the British knew we were here.  At least not at first.

“Well, when Loki told me he was going to gain the Kommandant’s trust, we started putting it together.  We were so certain the Brits had no inkling about the tesseract, we didn’t consider it beforehand.  We knew Natasha and Loki were up to something before that, of course, Maria had been helping them with this and that, but we thought they were just an intelligence outpost.  A step on a train for information, you see. 

“But when he told me about the tunnel collapse we knew it had to be something bigger, something more complicated than just simple intelligence gathering.  So we decided that it was best if I give them some room to do their work.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, and Rhodes was looking rather overwhelmed by the influx of information.  Steve frowned. 

“Giving them some space to work translates into faking your death?” he asked. 

Phil shrugged.  “There didn’t seem to be any other choice.  The Brits were handling the tesseract and any interference would likely just make the Germans suspicious.  So I might as well do some work on the outside.” 

“I think,” Tony said slowly, “Steve was more concerned with the faking of the death than the reasons behind it.”

Phil looked from Steve to Tony and back to Steve again.  “Well, there wasn’t much of a choice.  I couldn’t just disappear like that.  That would just make the Kommandant suspicious.  I could have had Maria forge some transfer papers, but it seemed too big a risk—especially when the tunnel collapse provided a perfect explanation that would raise no questions.”

Steve supposed that was sound thinking.  After all, if a transfer would endanger his associate, Phil could not in good conscience take that course of action when a more viable option was available. 

“But you came back,” said Rhodes, speaking for the first time.  He’d been struggling with tying his bow tie and Tony had taken over.  “And took out those guards.”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering about the guards,” Tony chipped in.

Phil’s expression darkened.  “Yes.  I was taking care of a few things in Frankfurt when I received word from Maria.  A traitor had come forward and told the Kommandant about the plan.”

Steve stared at Phil.  A traitor?  In the camp?  Why on earth would someone give away the escape?  Almost everyone in the camp had a hand in making it happen; why would they sabotage their own work?  Because they weren’t chosen to escape?  That had been lottery, though, surely everyone could see the fairness in that.

“Who?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence.

“Justin Hammer.”

Tony swore.  “That little rat!” he hissed between his teeth.  “I’ll tear him apart.”

Phil looked at the man impassively.  “It’s being taken care of.”

Tony gave him a look that said no matter what Phil had planned for Hammer, Tony thought he could do better.  Or worse, as it were.

“Anyway, I got back to the camp in time to take out as many of the guards as possible.”

“Thanks for that,” Steve said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Rhodes echoed drily, rubbing his achy head. 

Phil chuckled. “I tried to get him before he got you, but the bugger was fast.”

Rhodes shrugged good-naturedly.  “I’m not dead,” he said cheerfully.  “That’s a win, I think.”

“Wait,” Tony said suddenly, looking up from tying his shoes.  “If the Kommandant knows about the escape, wouldn’t he alert the train stations and border crossings?”

Phil smirked.  “No,” he said.  “He _would_ tell his secretary to do that though.  Unfortunately her telegraphs were somehow intercepted.”

Tony chuckled.  “That’s lucky, that his secretary was there to do that.”

“She may have volunteered.”

Tony cackled as he straightened, his suit all in place.

Steve looked around and saw that everyone was dressed.  They looked very different, somehow.  The sudden absence of grubby uniforms and unkempt hair made them into new men, Steve thought.  Or, probably more accurately, old men.  The men they were before they left home and became soldiers.  It was both saddening and hopeful, and Steve felt a sudden wave of nostalgia wash over him. 

Tony interrupted this thought by giving Rhodes a gentle push towards Phil.

“I’m tired of towing your lazy ass through the woods, Rhodey.  Tell Coulson your sob story,” he said.

Rhodes rolled his eyes and adjusted his flat cap so it was covering the bruise blooming on the side of his head.  Phil just shrugged and let Rhodes sling an arm over his shoulder, so Phil looked like he was helping a friend home after a night of drunken revels.

Rhodes and Phil started off towards the train station, but when Steve went to follow him, Tony grabbed his elbow.  “A word, Cap,” Tony said, his eyes serious.  Steve nodded slowly.

Tony waited until Rhodes and Coulson were far out of earshot before he began. 

“Do you,” he started slowly, “find anything about that story suspicious?”

Steve thought over the conversation again.  There didn’t seem to be anything out of place.  He shook his head.  “No.  Did you?”

Tony rubbed his face with one hand.  “It’s probably nothing.  But I’ve never met a spy agency in my life that would just stand back and let another set of spies take the reins.  Not with something like the tesseract at stake.”

“We’re allies,” Steve said with a shrug. 

Tony gave him that look that said _Steve, you are so innocent I don’t know whether to preserve you for the future or defile your naïve mind._ “We’re allies _now,_ ” Tony said instead.  “But after the war, whoever has the tesseract will have all the cards stacked in their favor.  This artifact will change the world, Steve.  Nobody's going to say no to a country with the tesseract's harnessed power behind them. And Coulson says he just gave it up.  Like that.”  He snapped his fingers. 

Steve stared at Tony.  Suddenly this escape didn’t seem as simple as it had three months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	35. Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about the past while Loki and Peter walk to the train station.

Peter glared at Thor, his hands on his hips. 

When he’d pictured Loki’s brother, he’d always imagined a sort of older, broader version of Loki.  At some point between Tony’s first mention of the brother and Sif’s account of their childhood, Peter’s mind had added a low brow and a scraggly black beard to the façade until the Thor in Peter’s mind was less Loki and more troll.  Even when he’d learned Loki was adopted, he hadn’t been able to shake the image. 

The real Thor was blond.  Of course he was.  And he was what Peter imagined the bobby-sockers back home called a “hunk.” 

Thor couldn’t have been less like Loki if somebody set out to make him that way.  The man was tall, yes, but his stature was also broad and muscular.  Where Loki was pale in skin and dark in hair, Thor was the polar opposite.  His skin was tanned and his hair blond.  The sole similarity to Peter’s troll-like expectations was a beard, though it was gold and well groomed, rather than black and unkempt.

Of course the prince was handsome, Peter thought bitterly.  Why would the world be fair?

Thor seemed to notice Peter’s glare for the first time.  He looked puzzled. 

“It is good to meet you, Private Parker,” Thor said hesitantly.  “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

Peter jerked his chin forward in a greeting nod.  It was gesture he was ashamed to say he’d copied from baseball players back home, the unsportsmanlike ones that only glared at the other team when they were supposed to shake hands after a lost game. 

“Hey.” Peter said shortly.  He could feel Loki’s glare like daggers in the back of his head, but he ignored him, preferring to scowl at the man before him.

 Thor’s confusion seemed to deepen.  He looked from Peter to Loki and back to Peter again.  Then it seemed something dawned on him, and a disgusting look of understanding settled on his face. 

Peter wanted to punch it off him. 

“Private Peter,” the older man said, taking a step forward.  “I understand—“

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Peter interrupted, probably louder than he should have.  It was still better than the alternative.  “We do have a train to catch.”

Thor looked ready to protest, but Loki nodded, looking at Peter.   “We should leave,” Loki said, moving towards the door.  “Thank you for the rescue, but we really do have a mission to complete.”

“But, Loki—“ Thor tried.  Sif stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Loki is right,” she said.  “He must continue his mission.”  She turned to Peter and Loki.  “To the train station?”

Peter and Loki exchanged a wary glance.  It was Loki who spoke.  “You are not accompanying us,” he said.  His tone suggested less certainty than his words implied.

“Of course not,” Sif said, smiling beatifically.  “We are simply going in the same direction.  That is all.”

The other four Asgardians nodded in agreement.  It looked like they were trying to look innocent.  They were failing spectacularly.

“At which time you will board the train going North.  To Asgard.” Loki said. 

Sif shook her head mournfully.  “I am afraid we have been tasked with a diplomatic mission to Switzerland,” she said.  She affected an expression of dawning surprise.  “Is that not where you were headed, Loki?”

Peter groaned inwardly. He snuck a glance at Loki.  His mentor’s mouth tightened.  Peter wasn’t sure if he was suppressing a smile or a frown.  Loki settled on a violent eye roll that seemed to imply his distaste for not only the Asgardians, but the entire European arena.

“I do not have time to argue with you,” he said, rubbing his forehead.  “Which I am sure you realized.  But,” he turned to glare at the Asgardians.  “You will follow my directions.  If your indiscretion cost me this mission, I will haunt you the whole way to Valhalla if I must.”

The other five nodded meekly, but Peter caught them grinning at each other when Loki turned his head. 

Loki strode purposefully towards the door.  Peter and the Asgardians had to hurry to catch up with him. 

Outside, night had truly fallen.  Thor made as if to walk by Loki, but Sif took the Lieutenant’s elbow and shot the Prince a warning look. 

Thor fell back to walk with Peter and the other Asgardians.  He looked absolutely woebegone.

“Cheer up, old man,” said the mustached one to Thor.  “You will have the entire train journey to talk to him.”

Thor gave half a smile. It looked painful. “I suppose.” He turned his attention to Peter.  Peter only glared back.

The fat Asgardian cleared his throat awkwardly.  When Peter and Thor looked over, he smiled sheepishly and thrust his hand forward.  “I am afraid we have not introduced ourselves,” the man said.  “I am Volstagg, of Asgard.  These two degenerates are Hogun and Fandral.”

Fandral and Hogun each held out hands to shake as they were introduced.  Peter shook each of their hands in succession.  

“Peter,” he said, by way of an introduction.  “Peter Parker.”

They fell into silence again, trudging through the quiet streets of Hammelburg.  Peter surveyed the men out of the corners of his eyes, taking note of their appearance and demeanor.

Fandral laughed, seemingly out of the blue.  Peter gave him a curious look. 

The mustached man smiled.  “Sorry.  It is only you really are just like him.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, curious despite himself.  On his other side, Thor also looked interested.  “How do you mean?”

Fandral shrugged.  “Oh, you know.  Fiercely loyal, smart.  I can see your mind going like a motor, trying to figure all of us out, and how much you ought to hate us for Loki.”

Fandral laughed again, shaking his head.  “Let me simplify it for you.  Thor, you have already decided to hate, even though he is a very stalwart and noble man, but I can see why you would, considering.  Volstagg is a very kindhearted fellow, his only crime towards Loki would probably be perhaps eating the Prince’s first course when he came to a meal late.  Hogun, likewise, is almost blameless.  He barely speaks, so verbal jibes are out, and he has no sense of humor, so no pranks or jokes on his part.”

“That may be so,” Hogun cut in.  “But the Private will wish to know physical misdeeds as well, and I am the author of many in Loki’s past.”

Fandral waved the comment away.  “Those were not malicious, though, and Loki knows it.  You were very fair.”  Fandral turned to Peter and explained.  “Loki was a bit of a prankster, and you either laughed,” Fandral gestured to Volstagg, “or you got revenge,” He gestured to Hogun. 

“Some of these vengeances were particularly malicious, but Hogun’s were always very just.  Loki would spill a drink on Hogun, Hogun would spill gravy on Loki.  Loki would steal a knife, Hogun would steal a book.  Loki would set a chicken loose in Hogun’s bedchamber, Hogun would set a litter of cats loose in Loki’s, and so on.  But they were very even.  When Loki gave back the knife, he got back the book, no ill feelings.”

“I think Loki got quite tired of it after a while,” Hogun said.  “With some of the other revenge-seekers, I almost think he looked forward to seeing how they would retaliate.  After a few months, he left me alone entirely, because he knew each time exactly what he would get.”

Fandral nodded along.  “So Hogun you should hate perhaps a bit more than Volstagg, but less than Thor, I think,” he said, considering. 

“And Fandral you should hate a bit less than Thor,” Volstagg said cheerfully.  “He and Loki were bitterest rivals for quite a while.”

Fandral nodded.  “I would argue that I warrant even more hate than Thor.”

Thor shook his head, speaking for the first time in the conversation.  “I disagree.  You and Loki were reconciled years ago.”

Fandral shook his head.  “No, I am quite sure I take the top position.”  Fandral turned to Peter.  “You see, I was quite in love with someone—“

 _“Was?”_ Volstagg coughed into his fist.  Fandral shot him a glare. 

“Quite right,” Fandral said after a moment.  “I _am still_ in love with someone who only had eyes for Loki.  I was convinced that it was not truly love that bound them, and it would only end in tears.”

Fandral sighed.  “And I made a mistake.  Rather than going to Loki and speaking to him about it, calmly, I did the immature thing. I ran straight to Thor and demanded that he stop his brother.  Loki saw it as a betrayal by both of us and, to be honest, it was.

“Thor sided with me, which only made Loki more set in his pursuit of the girl, and we began to fight in earnest.  After a few months of rapidly escalating fights, I challenged Loki to a duel.”  Peter raised an eyebrow.  What kind of antiquated country still had duels?    

Fandral continued.  “Loki declined to fight, of course, but it did not do his reputation any good.  It is considered cowardly to turn down any challenge, you see, and Loki had not done any military service so it was already whispered that he was not exactly manly.”

Peter frowned, and Fandral shrugged.  “Our culture is one built on battle.  Our island’s natural resources are rare, and food was mostly attained by raids.  We have a deeply engrained love of physical strength and battle.

“But back to the story.  We did finally come to terms with each other after a while, but our animosity did Loki no favors in court.  So I deserve your dislike more than Thor.”

“And besides,” Volstagg chipped in, “You can afford the hate when you have the hand of your lady.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose.  “You’re married to Sif?” He asked incredulously.  That would definitely make Peter angry.  Sif had made it sound like Loki and she were some lost love, when she’d gone and married some other man.

Fandral looked confused for a second, but then laughed.  “No, not Sif,” he said, shaking his head.  “Sigyn.  We married when Loki was presumed dead.”

***

Loki shot another look over his shoulder and Sif sighed.  Loki tipped his head to the side in an inquiry. 

“I can read you mind like a book, Loki Odinson,” she said with a smile. 

“Oh, have you learned to read in my absence, Sif?” Loki said mildly.  “I had thought you incapable.”

Sif rolled her eyes.  “You need not worry.  Peter will not side with them against you.”

“Ah, so they are against me then?”

Sif laughed.  “You misunderstand.  I only meant that he will not choose them over you.”

“I was not worried,” Loki said. 

“Right.  Of course not,” Sif replied.  “I have no idea how I could have thought such a thing.  Especially since Peter has been glaring at all of us since he met us.  He blames us for your suicide, which is only fair, I suppose.  He will never trust us, not if we had a thousand years to atone.”

“I am not jealous,” Loki said, sounding defensive.

“Of course not.  It is not as if people have been choosing Thor over you for years.  It is not as if you felt we had.  It would be preposterous for you, having made friends of your own, to be protective of that friendship when exposed to us.  Absolutely ridiculous.”

Loki’s mouth tightened.  “Sarcasm does not suit you, Sif.”

Sif smiled.  “Nor do jealousy and self-deceit suit you.  Shall we stop doing that for which we are unsuited?”

Loki scowled at her.  She sighed. 

“It is _good_ to care, Loki.  It is _good_ that you worry.  It means it matters.”

Loki gave her a long look.  “It does not feel good.”

Sif shrugged.  “Sometimes it does not,” she said, slinging an arm over his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.  “But it is important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of plot. Fandral just had some feels to get out. And Loki needs to be reminded that he's human sometimes.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	36. The Train Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's back in one place. Peter does some detective work.

Tony and Steve arrived to the train station over an hour early for their train, but they were somehow the last of the escapees to get there.  Steve looked around the station, trying to look inconspicuous while Tony joked with the ticket takers in rapid German. 

They’d passed Coulson and Rhodes sharing a cigarette just outside the doors to the station.  Both men had nodded to them casually, indicating that they weren’t waiting outside because there was danger inside. 

Inside, Barton was seated next to a woman who could only be the Natasha Tony had mentioned.  Barton was in a grey suit that made him look far more respectable than Steve had thought possible, and with his arm around the pretty redhead by his side, he looked like any other working stiff taking his girl on holiday in the Swiss Alps. 

Loki and Peter were standing close by, and Steve had to restrain himself from doing a double take the first time he saw them.  They were both in German uniforms and looked very much the part of a couple of brothers on leave.  Loki was casually leaning on train station wall, while Peter stood eagerly nearby, looking down the tracks for the train. 

Close to them was a cluster of men and one dark-haired woman.  They had commandeered a table from the train station café and dragged it to the other end of the platform.   They were playing some kind of complicated card game on the metal surface as they waited for the train.  One of the men was throwing glances towards Loki and Peter every few minutes, Steve noticed. 

He felt his heart speed up.  Was the man suspicious?  Were they caught already? 

“Gibt es ein Problem, Herr?” asked one of the ticket takers.  It seemed they had noticed Steve’s near panic.  Tony had turned so his warning look was only visible to Steve. 

Steve managed a queasy smile.  “Nein, nichts,” he said, utilizing roughly half of his German vocabulary. 

The ticket takers still looked vaguely dubious.  Tony smiled dazzlingly and clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  He said something in German, nodding towards the corner while waggling his eyebrows.  The ticket takers laughed as well, nodding in understandingly, which reassured Steve somewhat.

Tony excused them to the ticket takers and walked over to the café, steering Steve along with him. 

“Jesus, you’re terrible at this,” Tony muttered under his breath. 

“What did you tell them?”  Steve asked anxiously.

“I said you have a thing for pretty brunettes, and absolutely no lady-killing skills,” Tony said with a grin.  “Two things I am sure are true, so I figured it would sound believable.”

Steve blushed a bit.  Tony must have seen the photo of Peggy he’d tucked into his pocket. 

Tony laughed at him good-naturedly and they sat at one of the tables at the café.  Steve snuck a glance over his shoulder at the group of card-players.  “Do you think they’ve made Loki and Peter?”  He asked, leaning forward anxiously. 

Tony glanced discreetly over at the group again.  He chuckled, shaking his head.  “You don’t have to worry about them, Cap.  That’s Loki’s brother—I recognize him from college—and, if I’m not mistaken, those are some of his friends from Asgard.  They won’t do anything to get Loki into trouble.”

The sound of a door opening stopped Steve from asking the multitude of questions he had on that subject.  He looked around to see Coulson and Rhodes walk into the train station. 

It was still odd to see Coulson alive and well, but Steve’s surprise was nothing on the shock on the other prisoners’ faces. 

Steve noticed Loki was fairly quick to hide his astonishment.  There was one moment where the surprise was evident on his face, and the next he was wearing a look of complete boredom, as if the shock had never existed. 

Peter was slower to hide his surprise.  It took an elbow to the ribs from Loki for him to affect a mask of blankness, though his eyes continued to follow Phil as he walked into the station. 

Clint was as shocked as Peter, but rather than staring at the newly-alive Coulson, he turned to the woman at his side.  Her expression had barely changed with the appearance of Coulson.  If Steve hadn’t seen the expectant look on Clint’s face, he would have guessed she had no idea who Coulson was.  Clint wanted answers from the woman, but all she did was raise a shoulder in a miniscule shrug. 

Coulson ignored the sudden tension in the room, walking with Rhodes to sit at the café near Tony and Steve. 

“Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do,” Tony murmured as Coulson passed. 

Steve had to agree.

***

Loki eyed the unmistakable form of Phil Coulson where he sat in the train station café and willed his face blank as his thoughts raced. 

Phil Coulson was alive.  That was simultaneously relieving and deeply worrying.  Loki was glad he was not truly responsible for the man’s death, but what on earth was going on?

Loki wished he could go over to the man and shake the answers out of his head.  Unfortunately, it was agreed before the escape that no one would interact unnecessarily once they were outside of the camp.  Loki would not risk that unnecessarily.  Not when a measure of patience would see their reveal eventually anyway.

His thoughts were interrupted by another relieving and deeply worrying personage. 

“You know that mask hides nothing, do you not?” Sif asked as she moved to lean on the wall beside Loki. 

Loki did not deign to answer. 

“Who is it that has put that expression on your face?” Sif continued after a moment of silence.

“Someone I previously thought dead,” Loki said, tearing his eyes from Coulson to glance at Natasha. 

She did not know he was alive, he was sure.  Natasha and Loki had an agreement.  No lies.  Not even lies of omission.  But she might know more than she had shared when she thought the man dead.

Sif nodded slowly.  “It is good that he is alive, though?  You did not think you had killed him only to find him alive.”

Loki’s mouth quirked.  “Both, actually.” 

Sif smiled wryly.  “Nothing is simple with you, is it?”

“Not if I can help it.”

They stood quietly for a few minutes.  Loki broke the silence.

“Your diplomatic mission,” he said.  “My mother assigned it, did she not?”

“She did.”

“It is nothing to do with the Swiss, is it?”

“It is not.”

Loki glanced at Sif out of the corner of his eye.  “My mother always was a good judge of what weapon is most appropriate for each mission,” he said quietly. 

Sif only laughed.  She always was, it seemed.  It was one of many things he loved about her.  It was a bit irritating now, though.

“I am not your mother’s weapon.  In fact, I was ordered out of negotiations.  Hogun’s head of the talks and the rest of us are to stay out of it.”

“That does not seem the wisest choice,” he said.  “You make a very keen weapon.”

“I suppose the queen has a weakness when it comes to you.”

“Or she is cleverer than both of us.”

Sif laughed again.  “I do not think there is any doubt of that.”

Loki nodded in agreement.

Peter was glancing at them curiously out of the corners of his eyes, but he wisely said nothing. 

“Are you permitted to provide counsel?”  Loki asked. 

“I think you know my opinion, Loki,” she said.

Loki nodded.  He did.

***

Peter looked at Loki out of the corner of his eye, trying to make sense of Loki and Sif’s enigmatic conversation.  He decided he quite hated that the woman knew Loki better than he did.  It was like they had a secret language between them, one that Peter had no hope of deciphering. 

Peter gave up trying to make sense of the Asgardians and turned himself into a different mystery—Phil. 

Peter knew he wouldn’t get definite answers for sure until they were on the train at least, but Loki always said even if you didn’t have any real information, it was good to analyze what you had and use it to inform your future choices. 

What Peter knew was that Phil had faked his death from inside a prison camp.  On its surface, that would suggest he’d seized an opportunity to escape on his own rather than wait for the big escape. 

There were several problems with that theory, though.  First of all, Phil had always been the most patient person on the crew.  His suggestions always put safety before haste.  Impatience just didn’t seem to be part of his setup. 

And secondly, if he’d wanted to escape, why hadn’t he?  A faked death would mean no one checking train stations or searching woods—it was the perfect opportunity to run for the hills, but here was, back from wherever he’d been. 

So, when Phil had faked his death, but escape hadn’t been the objective.  Something else was. 

Peter closed his eyes and tried to remember the sequence of events.  Loki had told Phil about telling the Kommandant, then he’d told the Kommandant, then the Kommandant had collapsed the tunnel, and Phil was presumed inside.  What did that mean? 

Well, it meant a step closer to the tesseract for Loki.  He’d won the Kommandant’s trust with that collapse.  But it meant very little to everyone else.  Except that they’d been able to finish the second tunnel faster with all the man power on one tunnel, rather than split between the two.  Peter frowned.  This wasn’t going anywhere.  He had to go back to the basics.   

So Phil wasn’t an ordinary prisoner.  He couldn’t be.  Any ordinary prisoner would have run and never looked back.  Phil was something else. 

Perhaps the Nazis had a plant.  Perhaps Maria Hill had had a partner.  Perhaps Phil was working for someone completely different.  There was no way of knowing.

Peter adjusted the knapsack on his back, feeling the cylindrical casing for the tesseract shift against his back. 

He had a hunch all of this had to do with the tesseract.  It was too powerful an artifact for only Loki and Natasha to be after it.  There would be more. 

Peter remembered Loki’s advice on dealing with multiple enemies—it was always best to stand back and let the competition take each other out for you.  That way you only have to beat the victor, and hopefully they would be weakened by the previous fights.  Loki had applied it to melee fighting, but Peter figured you could apply it to this predicament as well.

If Coulson knew that Loki and Natasha would be going after the tesseract, then his best option would be to be patient and wait while the others made their moves on the tesseract.  Loki and Natasha would shoulder all the risk, and all Coulson would have to do is take it from them once it was safely out of Nazi hands and the security was much reduced. 

Even if Loki was unsuccessful, Coulson would be able to witness any mistakes and hopefully account for where Loki went wrong. 

It was a brilliant tactic, Peter thought.  Whether Coulson had done it or not was still up in the air, though.

Peter readjusted the knapsack.  The next logical question was whether Coulson would want to steal the tesseract or negotiate for its release. 

Peter blinked.  Negotiations?  He  thought back on Loki and Sif’s conversation.  What had Sif said?  Something about negotiations on the way to Switzerland, but having nothing to do with the Swiss?

What if the Asgardians were after the tesseract, too?  That could be what Loki and Sif were talking about. 

Hogun was going to try to persuade Loki into bringing the tesseract back to Asgard, rather than to…wherever it was supposed to be going now. 

Peter was beginning to feel trapped. If the tesseract was bait, and the different factions were fish, then Peter was the hook.  And the hook may have the last laugh, but not before seeing the belly of the beast. 

They were getting into a train full of people willing to do anything to acquire the artifact of infinite power now strapped to Peter’s back.  He swallowed nervously and hoped he was wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I am very sorry, but I won't be updating until next Sunday. I'm going out of town, and I won't have reliable wifi until I'm back. I'm hoping that I'll be able to make the next chapter a bit longer to compensate. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	37. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki hears everyone out.

It seemed to take an eternity for the train to finally arrive at Hammelburg, Loki thought.  It was right on time at midnight, but to him, it seemed much, much longer.  He could see he was not the only one relieved to see the train steaming into the station.  Similar looks of relief passed over all of the prisoners’ faces, even Coulson’s. 

Coulson.  Loki tried not to glare in the man’s general direction.  Coulson was a worrying dilemma.  Loki suspected the man’s mission was roughly the same as Hogun’s—to negotiate for the tesseract to go with him to his own country rather than back to Britain.  Loki suspected the difference between the two approaches would be a more liberal definition of the word ‘negotiate.’  He restrained himself from shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

Peter seemed to be even more nervous than the others.  Loki supposed that was not such a surprise.  The younger man had not only just escaped from a prison camp, he had been held hostage at gunpoint and stolen a powerful artifact.  Loki thought Peter had certainly earned his nervousness, and had given up trying to calm him more than an hour before. 

As the train trundled into the station, Loki placed a restraining hand on the younger man’s shoulder to keep him from positively bouncing in nervous anticipation.  Peter stiffened under his hand for a second.  Loki shot him a questioning glance, but Peter looked away before Loki could catch his eye.

Loki frowned in confusion, but before he could ask the younger man what was wrong, Tony was walking over and clapping Loki on the shoulder. 

“Come, my friends,” Stark said in cheerful and fluent German.  “We can spare a few seats in our compartment for two strapping young men in uniform.”

Stark flashed a wide smile while Loki, Peter, and Rogers stared at him in confusion.  Tony’s smile only broadened and took on a manic glint. 

Loki allowed himself and Peter to be steered into first class. Stark pushed the three other men into a first-class compartment and spoke to the train conductor.

“What is going on?” Loki hissed at Rogers while Tony sweet-talked the conductor. 

Rogers shrugged. 

“Maybe he wants a piece of the tesseract too,” Peter said quietly, sounding bleak.  Loki shot Peter another inquisitive glance, but Tony swung back into the compartment. 

“What is this?” Loki demanded as Stark gestured for them all to sit. 

“I thought I would play host to your little parlay,” Stark said easily, settling in opposite Peter and Loki and next to Rogers.  “You know, give you a place a bit more private than the third class carriage for your discussions of the top secret artifact Petey’s sitting on.”

Loki frowned at them.

“And?” He asked.  “Perhaps you are hoping to tip the scales in your favor?”

Stark laughed.  “Are you kidding?  I don’t want that damn thing in the U.S.”

Rogers shot Stark a shocked look, but Stark only ignored him.

Stark leaned forward confidentially.  “Look, my old man is a genius, right?  He’s got over a hundred patents, he’s working for the U.S. government in research and development, I mean, he’s built a damn flying car for christ’s sake.”

“What is your point?” Loki asked.

“Let me tell you a story.  When I was three years old my dad took it in his head that he was going to try and create me in his image.  You know, mold me into exactly the kind of man he was.  In addition to being a genius, he was also a bit of a narcissist.

“But you see, my dad only got into engineering because when he was six years old he fell off his dad’s tractor and was trapped underneath the thing for nearly sixteen hours while they tried to lift it off of him.  He distracted himself from the searing pain of the tractor crushing his leg by figuring out how the motor worked.  That horrible experience made him into the man he was.  He even trained himself to walk again by tinkering in the tool shed, improving that damn tractor. 

“He still had that stupid machine when I was three years old.  He’d rebuilt it, repainted it, made it into the best damn tractor on the market.  He saw that tractor as the impetus for him becoming who he was.  And he was perfectly willing to lower that machine on me when I was three-years old to make me into the engineer he wanted.  Even had it winched up in the workshop.  I don’t think I have to tell you that he was a bit lubricated at the time, if you get my meaning.”

Tony paused for a second. 

“If the butler hadn’t stopped him, he would have dropped that damn tractor on me.  He would have left me there in terrible pain for sixteen hours so he could have a damn lab assistant.  As it was, he shipped me off to military school the next day and I didn’t see him more than a dozen times after that to the time I turned eighteen.  I think he thought he’d missed his chance to make his little duplicate and lost interest.”

The compartment was quiet.  Tony waited a moment before continuing.  “Look, my dad’s smart, but, well, let’s just say I would never entrust something like the tesseract to him. 

“You see, I know scientists.  When you get to the kind of brilliant that my dad is at, things like good and wrong sort of pale next to proving the impossible possible.  So when you’re thinking about putting something like the tesseract in the United States, let me tell you, you’re entrusting it to people like my father.  More than likely, you’ll be trusting it to the man himself as well.  They’re brilliant, don’t get me wrong, but their moral compasses don’t exactly point true north, if you know what I mean.”

There was a moment of silence after Stark’s story. 

“So no, Loki, I don’t think you ought to give that power source to the U.S.  I don’t know that England’s a better choice, or any other place, for that matter.  But not the U.S.  No, I wouldn’t say that’s the best thing.  For everyone.”

***

Steve and Tony stepped out of the compartment to tell Coulson it was his turn to talk to Loki.  Steve turned to Tony.  “He really wouldn’t have dropped it on you, would he?”

Tony shrugged.  “Maybe he would have thought better of it if he hadn’t been so sauced you could have bottled him and sold him to Heinz.  But at the time, I was sure he was going to do it.” 

Steve nodded slowly, wondering how in the hell Tony could be so casual about it.

***

As soon as Stark and Rogers were out of the compartment, Loki turned to Peter to voice the question he’d been pondering since they left the train station. 

“What is wrong?”

Peter scowled at him.  “Shouldn’t you know that, smart as you are?”

Loki sighed.  It made Peter’s scowl deepen.  “Is it something the Warriors Three said?  Because—“

“It wasn’t them, Loki.  _They_ were arguing about who I should hate more for what they’ve done to you. I’m angry at _you_.”

Loki replayed the events of the evening in his mind.  He could not pinpoint a cause for Peter’s displeasure.  He considered briefly a vague all-encompassing apology, but dismissed it.  Peter was too clever and deserved more. 

“Peter,” he said, waiting until his younger friend turned to look at him.  “Peter, what have I done to anger you?”

Peter scoffed.  “You really don’t know?”

Loki’s expression must have revealed his mystification. 

“Jesus,” Peter said.  “I thought you were my friend.  I thought that meant that you wouldn’t get me into this kind of mess.”

Loki frowned.  “What do you mean?  You knew what we were after.”

“Yeah, I knew about the tesseract, but I didn’t sign up to be your mule.  I didn’t sign up for a damned dog fight over a potentially world-ending power source.  I didn’t sign up for countries squabbling for power and Phil Coulson maybe murdering me for a blue cube. I didn’t want this.”

Loki blinked.  He had not looked at the situation that way.  As a member of the royal family, he was used to this strange political world where people were just as likely to flatter you as stab you in the back.  He had not even thought about sparing Peter the rude awakening that they would be faced with such duplicity because Loki had thought, naively perhaps, that everyone could see that for themselves.

He had not even prepared him for the huge scale of their heist, the potential of the device and the likelihood that the world would suddenly turn into a race, where Loki, Natasha, Clint, and Peter were standing in the way of the finish line, waiting to be trampled underfoot. 

“Oh Peter,” Loki said, feeling very tired all of a sudden.  “I am sorry.  I was—I did not think of preparing you for this.”

“Preparing me?  You should have warned me off.  I thought you—“ and Peter rubbed his eyes angrily with his sleeve.  “I thought you were going to protect me.”

Loki’s chest felt like someone had taken a hammer to his ribs and pounded.  It was the worst feeling he’d had since Sif had left him, since he found the letters in his father’s study. 

He reached out and pulled Peter towards him, his only consolation that the boy did not fight him off. 

“Peter, I am trying to protect you.  I am.   You will not be alone in this, I swear.”

***

Peter pulled away from Loki when they heard a knock on the compartment door.  He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, hoping no one could tell he’d been crying.  Loki kept his arm over Peter’s shoulder, and Peter told himself it wasn’t comforting.

“Sie können eintreten,” Loki called through the compartment door.

Coulson let himself into the compartment and sat across from the two of them. 

It was so odd to see him still alive. Peter didn’t get long to ruminate on the weirdness because soon the man was speaking.

“I understand you were working in a larger capacity for the British government than I was led to believe,” Coulson said. 

Loki shrugged.  “I could say the same to you.”  It seemed Loki had come to the same conclusions that Peter had.  He’d probably been expecting it, Peter thought with a touch of bitterness.

Coulson nodded as if in acknowledgement of a point scored.  “You gathered that did you?”  He asked, settling back in the train seat.

“It was not a difficult leap.  I _am_ curious whether Maria Hill is your accomplice or if you represent yet another faction.”

“Maria and I have worked together in this as well as a number of other missions.”

“So you are here for the American government,” Loki said.  It wasn’t quite a question, but Coulson nodded anyway.

“Yes,” he said simply.  “And I’d like to take the tesseract back with me.”

 _Well that was calmer and more straightforward than expected,_ Peter couldn’t help but think.  No threats, no demands, no guns waving in their faces.  Though that would probably come when Loki refused.  If Loki refused. 

Loki leaned back in the seat and steepled his hands in front of his face.  It was his enigmatic thinking face, the one Peter was sure he’d developed specifically to look as regal and blank as possible.

“Go on.”

“The tesseract is a powerful artifact.  This we all know.  And in the wrong hands it can be a terrible weapon.  That’s why Maria and I stepped back and let you and Miss Romanova take the lead on the mission.  Even if the U.S. didn’t have it, at least the tesseract would be out of Nazi hands.” 

Peter only just refrained from snorting in disbelief.  Coulson continued without noticing.

“But now that it’s safe—or at least on the way to safety—you should consider what the U.S. could do that Britain cannot.  Britain is at the moment in the midst of a series of terrible airstrikes all over the country.  It’s not exactly the safest place for a less-than-completely-stable object of this magnitude.  The only safe choice for the Brits would be to hide it somewhere, bury it under Stonehenge or something else equally as impotent. 

“The U.S. is isolated enough that we could do actual good with that device.”

Loki allowed a look of skepticism to cross his face.  Coulson nodded in acknowledgement of the feeling. 

“Yes, I said ‘good.’  The tesseract is a powerful artifact, we all know that, but I think we’ve all been focusing on its destructive power.  But that power has the potential to revolutionize medicine, to rebuild cities.  We can make that happen.  The Brits can’t risk researching and experimenting with the tesseract, but we can.  We can put all the power to good use.  Maybe end this war earlier than we thought.  You could save millions of lives giving that artifact to us.”

Peter couldn’t read the look on Loki’s face.  The Lieutenant had again folded his hands in front of his face, and all Peter could see was a tense energy behind Loki’s eyes.

Coulson must have seen more than that because he stood a moment afterwards.  “I look forward to your decision,” he said quietly. 

***

Natasha slipped into the compartment in first class as soon as Coulson was far enough down the corridor that she knew he wouldn’t hear her. 

As soon as she’d heard Tony’s plan to put the negotiations in first class, she and Clint had managed to finagle their way into the compartment just beside Stark’s.  With the aid of a couple of empty drinks glasses pressed against the wood paneling between the two compartments, they’d been able to hear everything going on in the other room.

Peter still looked tense.  She could see why he felt betrayed by Loki.  Peter was still young enough to believe in people.  It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him.  And it was good for Loki to have that belief.  She’d warned him early on that it was something rare, to have someone’s faith in you.  She’d warned him that he needed to protect it.  And he had.  He’d done everything to keep Peter above all of the dirty, worrying mess through which Loki and Natasha habitually waded. 

Natasha sympathized with Loki.  They were very similar in many ways.  That’s why they got along so well.  They didn’t have a sensitivity for what Loki called “sentiment.”  When Clint had asked Natasha whether she knew about Coulson’s supposed death, she had told the truth that she hadn’t.  But even if she had, Natasha wasn’t sure she would have known she should tell Clint anyway.  It just wasn’t natural for her to consider the feelings of others, at least not when the feelings of others were tangential to the mission. 

So yes, she sympathized with Loki in this.  Because Loki had tried.  He really had.  But Loki was so used to the mess that it was harder to see the line anymore. So he’d unwittingly led Peter through the darkness and forgotten to take into account the boy’s starry eyes.

Loki looked up, a tiny smile of relief showing on his face.  That was not a good sign, she thought.

“How are things?” Natasha asked quietly. Even she wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

Loki shrugged.  “How much did you manage to hear?”

“Everything.”

Loki nodded.  “And?”

“We should speak after Hogun’s had his say.”

Loki nodded again. 

Natasha looked between the two men.  Peter seemed calmer now, at least.  She wondered if there was anything she could say to fix this.  But no, she can’t.  It would feel too much like manipulation.  And these two—they were her friends. 

So she settled for resting her hand on Peter’s shoulder for a moment.  A timid gesture, she felt, because gestures came even less naturally than feelings.   But hopefully reassuring.  Communicating that they were all in this together, no matter what.

***

Loki looked up as Hogun entered the compartment.  They nodded to each other in silence. 

Hogun had always been the one member of the Warriors Three that Loki found most tolerable.  That did not necessarily make them friends—quite the contrary at times—but Hogun at least _saw._ Hogun was at all times completely aware of his surroundings and the subtle changes in them.  This was something Loki could appreciate.

What was more, where Hogun saw, he did not seek to use his observations against those involved.  He had been the first to notice Loki and Sif’s relationship, Loki was sure, but he had remained silent without prompting.  He was honorable in the oldest sense of the word, and saw such invasions of privacy as the lowest kind of rudeness.

Hogun nodded to Peter as well.  The younger man looked surprised to be acknowledged.  He nodded back after a moment’s hesitation.

Loki gestured for Hogun to sit, and the man did so, taking his time to situate himself so none of the eight knives on his body dug into him uncomfortably. 

“The tesseract belongs in Asgard,” Hogun said abruptly.  He had never been one for small talk, Loki remembered. 

Loki raised his eyebrows.  “Does it now?”

“Yes,” Hogun said.  “You know this.”

Peter looked at Loki, and Loki could tell he was trying not let the accusatory nature of the glance show to Hogun.

Hogun saw, but as always, he did not comment.

“It is a matter of stolen property,” Hogun said calmly. 

Loki’s eyebrows climbed even further.  “That is the approach you are taking?”

“There is no approach.  It is a simple case.  Germany stole one of Asgard’s possessions, and it is your duty to return it.”

“My duty,” Loki said flatly. 

“Yes.”  Hogun’s face was impassive.  “As a prince of Asgard, it is your duty to protect her interests.  That would include returning the tesseract to us.”

Loki smiled.  He knew it was not a pleasant expression.  “Are dead men still beholden to their countries?” He asked.  His voice sounded rough to his own ears.

Hogun gazed at him placidly.  “You do not look so dead to me.  And if I remember correctly, you are listed in the official registry as missing, not dead.”

“I understand there was a funeral.”

“A memorial service.  Not the same.”

Loki could feel his face heat as he tried to maintain control over his emotions.  Even after all this time, they would make demands of him.  He was theirs when he was useful, and he was nothing the rest of the time.  He breathed carefully in and out through his nose, counting backwards from ten.

“I was never truly prince,” he said.  Because they could not have made the adoption official.  Not when they were pretending he was theirs.  “I am not, and was never, Asgardian.”

Hogun surveyed him with those eyes that saw everything.  “Does the paperwork really matter, Loki?” He asked.  “I believe we both know where your loyalties lie when all is said and done.”

Loki refused to look at him. 

“But,” Hogun said after a moment.  “If you are too proud to admit the truth, I can give you ample other reasons.  Asgard is safer than Britain or the United States.  It is neutral, isolated, careful.  You will be giving it to trusted hands.” 

Loki laughed harshly.  “Do not tell me the Allfather can be trusted.”

Hogun looked at him in an almost pitying way.  “I understand your personal grudges, but Odin has always done what is best for Asgard and, indeed, the world.”  Hogun nodded toward Loki.  “Even at the expense of his son.”

“I am _not_ his _son_ ,” Loki snarled.  “Do not tell me that whole business was some sort of sacrifice for him.  He did as he pleased, damn the consequences for anyone else.”

Hogun regarded him coolly, which only angered Loki further.  He opened his mouth to rain rage over the still impassive Hogun when Peter reached over and put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. 

“Who’s to say you won’t use it against Britain and the U.S.,” Peter said, steering the conversation away from more emotional topics.  Loki shot him a grateful look.  “Who’s to say you won’t give it right back to the Germans as soon as you get home?  After all, your neutrality could break.”

Hogun turned his attention to Peter.  “Asgard and Germany have been at war in intervals for thousands of years.  Why would that change when they have put a land-gobbling dictator in charge?”

Peter shrugged.  “I doesn’t seem like your countries are all that dissimilar.  At least from my perspective.”

Hogun’s eyes narrowed slightly—the only sign that Peter had struck a nerve.

“Not dissimilar?” He asked, in a quiet, even tone.

Peter shrugged again casually.  “I don’t know.  You guys don’t seem all that different to me.  Germany has a Chaplin-look-alike with a Napoleon complex giving the orders.  Asgard has an absolute monarchy with a baby-stealing king on the throne. Maybe they can bond over mutual interests like forced conformity, creating child soldiers, and unlimited power.”

Loki stared at his protégé in shock. It was not that he had not thought the same such things a thousand times before—perhaps not drawing the similarity to Hitler into the equation—but he had never heard anyone voice such dissent for the Allfather in public.  How very like an American.

A glance at Hogun showed he, too, was in shock, though it made itself known only through a slight widening of the eyes and parting of the lips.

It took them both a few seconds to regain their composure.  Peter looked quite proud at throwing the both of them off their game.  Loki knew that he himself was impressed with the younger man.

Hogun cleared his throat.  Loki could see him battle his anger into submission.  The man was not used to such impertinence, while Loki was used to such things after living in a prison with Tony Stark and Clint Barton. 

After a moment Hogun said, “I suggest that, should you ever visit Asgard, you refrain from voicing such opinions, Mr. Parker.  It may land you in the stocks.”

Peter shrugged again, probably noticing the tiny prick of anger it provoked in Hogun.  “You couldn’t pay me to go there, Mr. Hogun.”

Loki felt his mouth twitch in amusement.  Hogun turned his glare to Loki.  “Fandral was right.  He is just like you at that age.” 

Loki’s smile broadened to a grin.  “Oh no, he is much smarter,” he said easily.  “And he has a point.  Asgard has allied with Germany in the past for short times.  And Asgard could profit greatly from such an alliance.  You said it yourself, Hogun—the Allfather does what is best for Asgard.  If he thought allying with Hitler would profit him, Odin would do it in a heartbeat.”

“No,” Hogun said, “I do not think he would.”  Hogun gave Loki a strange, piercing look for only a second.  Then he looked away. 

“The tesseract is dangerous,” he said after a few moments.  “It has been safe in Asgard’s vaults for over a thousand years.”

Loki shook his head.  “Not safe enough to avoid theft,” he pointed out.  “How _did_ the Germans get their hands on it?  No one has ever said.”

Hogun slumped a bit in his seat—barely noticeable, just enough for Loki to know Hogun had been in charge of the investigation. 

“We still do not know.  It just vanished one night and there was no trace of it until it showed up in Nazi hands.”

Loki leaned forward, frowning.  “Nothing else was taken?

Hogun shook his head.  “No.  All the other artifacts were right where they belonged.  Even the gems were in place, and they could have fetched a fortune from any number of sources.  And before you ask—I made sure they were genuine. They had not been replaced by glass counterfeits.”

Loki nodded slowly, processing that.  He had wondered how the tesseract had landed in German hands. 

Hogun stood slowly and looked around the compartment as if casting about for the right words.  “I suppose I can cable your mother and tell her I have failed,” he said, not quite asking.

“We have not reached a decision,” Loki said, raising an eyebrow.  “Perhaps you may depend on my loyalty.”

Hogun smiled a small smile—the only kind he had—and looked from Peter to Loki.  “I have never doubted your loyalty, Loki.  Only its direction,” he said as he left he compartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! And a smidge less pale than I was when I left. 
> 
> And for your patience, I offer up a super long chapter of political maneuvering. Next chapter will consist of Loki's analysis of the offers. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	38. Debts and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some analysis and then Natasha feels.

Natasha passed Hogun as he left the compartment, and she entered it.  He nodded to her politely, not at all surprised to see her in the vicinity. She nodded back as she brushed by. 

Loki and Peter greeted her quietly as she sat by the window, crossing her legs delicately. 

She regarded Loki and Peter carefully.  They seemed to have reached at least some sort of understanding.  The tension in the room had dropped considerably since she had last checked in. 

Natasha suspected it had something to do with Hogun’s somewhat antagonistic approach.  There was nothing like a mutual enemy to cement tenuous bonds, Natasha had found.  The bonds weren’t guaranteed to hold, but after the first initial bond it was mostly inertia. Natasha wondered idly if it had been Hogun’s intention to do so.

The door to the compartment opened and Clint slipped in, slumping into the seat beside Natasha. 

“Good,” Loki said.  “We are all here.  Initial impressions?”

“I say we throw it into the ocean and wash our hands of the damn thing,” Clint said immediately.  “We got it out of Nazi control.  Mission accomplished.  No need to overachieve, if you ask me.”

Peter looked shocked at Clint’s words, but Loki only nodded, turning to give Peter a questioning look.  “Peter?”

Peter blinked, as if surprised to be asked.  Natasha thought about smiling at his confusion, but decided against it.  He would only be embarrassed.

“I don’t know, there doesn’t seem to be any good decision,” he said.  “I mean, Tony made a good case for keeping it away from America, but then Coulson made a pretty good case for giving it to them.  I mean, the U.S. is the only one who’s actually offering to do anything with the tesseract.  All the others just want to hide it away somewhere.”

“That is exactly what worries me,” Natasha said.  “They are planning on using the tesseract.  And though they may begin with good intentions, I find it unlikely that they will continue on with them.  Even if we were sure the people we give it to would not do anything destructive, we could not be sure of their successors, or their successor’s successors.” 

“But it seems such a shame to just throw it away.  I mean, it could do a lot of good in the right hands.”

Loki and Natasha exchanged a glance.  Neither of them trusted any of the hands offered them, no matter how good. 

“We have to balance that against the danger that could ensue from its misuse,” Natasha said carefully.

Clint nodded in agreement.  “Think of it like a wager, Petey.  You can place your bets on using the tesseract, and you stand to win advancements in science that we’d probably make in time anyway.  But with that bet, you stand to lose the entire world, maybe.  Or you can place your bets on not using the tesseract where you gain all the advancements eventually, but stand to lose nothing.  It’s just smarter not to risk it.”

Peter nodded slowly, processing that.  Natasha gave Clint her tiniest smile and he grinned back.   

Loki nodded.  “That was my thinking as well,” he said. 

“So it’s Britain or Asgard?” Peter asked, looking glum.

“Or the bottom of the river,” Clint threw in.

Loki rubbed his face.  Natasha knew what he was thinking. 

Asgard was Asgard.  The entire country was on his blacklist for very good reason.  At the same time, he had been born there, and his ideals had been shaped by its value system.  One such ideal was that the tesseract should be hidden, protected, and never used.

From the moment they got the assignment, Natasha had known that Loki would have a problem turning the tesseract over to Britain.  It might not be safe to experiment on the tesseract _now,_ but what was to stop them in the future? 

Peter was right:  there were no good choices. 

“What has bothered me from the beginning,” Natasha said when the silence had stretched for too long to be productive.  “Is how the tesseract got from Asgard to Germany.”

Loki nodded.  “It has weighed upon my mind as well.  The tesseract has remained in Asgard’s vaults for a thousand of years, undisturbed, nearly forgotten, and suddenly it is stolen?  How did the Germans even know about it?  It just does not make sense.”

Natasha and Peter nodded. 

Clint shrugged.  “Inside job.”

Natasha did smile when Peter and Loki turned to him in surprise. Everyone always seemed to forget that Clint saw everything. 

  “Of course,” Loki said.  She could see his mind rapidly reviewing the possibilities.  “The Germans could not have known about the tesseract, and were unlikely to risk a trip to the vaults on the basis of myth and legend.  An Asgardian must have taken it to them.”

There was silence for a few minutes while they considered this. 

“Then Asgard is out, too,” Peter said slowly.  “Since the inside man will just as likely turn it right back over to the Germans and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“We _are_ back were we started,” Clint said.  “There is no country that we can trust completely with the tesseract.  So it’s either choosing the lesser of three evils or dropping the damned thing into a volcano.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that option, though,” Peter said, considering.  “A volatile artifact like the tesseract would probably react in a combustive way taking the entire mountain with it.”

Clint grinned.  “We’d just have to find that island from King Kong, toss the tesseract in, and let the explosion take out the monkey.”

Peter grinned back.  “We’d save the earth twice in one day.”

“Not to mention Fay Wray,” Clint said, waggling his eyebrows.  Natasha elbowed him in the ribs, but she could see the tension bleed out of both Peter and Clint with their joking.  Even Loki looked less rigid.

Natasha couldn’t let herself be distracted, though.  She leaned forward tapping her fingernail on the windowsill between them.

“Britain is the best choice, Loki.  They will hide the tesseract away and it will be safe for a time.  We can deal with the aftermath when it comes.”

“Maybe you won’t have to, anyway,” Clint pointed out.  “Do you know how unorganized governments are?  I mean, one little misspelling on a form could lose it in a warehouse forever.”

Loki was rubbing his forehead, his eyes on the carpet of the train compartment. 

Natasha knew it was going to have to be his decision.

Natasha was very much like Loki, but at the same time, very, very different.  He’d been damaged, she knew, but on its surface, he’d lived a charmed life.  Raised by a King, educated by the finest of three different countries, never denied any little luxury.  She almost wanted to hate him for being miserable when he had had so much.  Almost.  But not really.

She couldn’t.  Because his pain was so evident and his friendship was too valuable to her.  And also because it wouldn’t be Right. 

Natasha hadn’t believed in Right—or Wrong for that matter—for almost her entire life.  She’d been born an orphan, alone and unloved and for the longest time, there was only survival.  She would do (had done) anything if it meant she wasn’t quite at the bottom of the food chain anymore. 

When you were fighting to survive, you didn’t think about the people you were hurting.  You couldn’t.  That was the difference between living and dying sometimes. 

When she was younger, and the priests would let her sit in the dry pews of churches and eat a stale biscuit or two provided she pretended to listen to their lecture on Right and Wrong, Natasha had scorned the very notion. 

She’d sat there, careful not to let anything show on her face, careful not to let her eyes wander to the gruesome crucifix, careful not to swing her legs where they didn’t quite reach the ground, and cursed the priest in her mind. 

What use did she have for Good and Evil?  They were just watery substitutes for the visceral Survival and Death.  And she had plenty of the real thing to worry her.  Right and Wrong were a rich person’s pretend at the dangers of the real world. 

But when Natasha’s existence had become more stable—when she was no longer fighting tooth and nail for every scrap she got—she’d began to wonder if she hadn’t been wrong.  If maybe there was Survival and Death on one spectrum and Right and Wrong on another.  And if maybe she had misjudged the value of one over the other. 

She’d been an assassin for years by that time.  A mercenary beholden to only the money.  She’d killed for regime changes and petty disagreements.  Cheating wives and fascist dictators.  She’d even killed for justice once or twice. 

It was on one such job that she saw the church again, the one she’d sat in all those years ago. She’d walked up the steps, her high heeled shoes clicking on the crumbly stone, past the stained baptismal font to the pews worn smooth by generations of penitent bottoms. It seemed so small and drab to her, now, this building that she’d been awed by for most of her childhood. 

When she’d been a girl, she’d watched the families dressed in their Sunday best, their shoes shined until she could see her reflection in the patent leather, and she’d thought them rich.  She’d envied their clean clothes and well-fed demeanors.  Now, she could see the marks of patches, the faded colors from many washings.  She could see that those same families she’d envied were barely making ends meet themselves.

She’d looked in at the crucifix, still hanging above the altar, dusty from years of neglect, and felt a sudden sadness she could not trace back to any source.

“Are you alright?” A voice had said behind her.

She’d turned to see the priest.  The same one she remembered loathing in her girlhood.  He stood before her in the same black robes of his office, a mild smile affixed to his face. 

He, like the church, had looked older, his face wan and drawn, lined with the wrinkles of age.  But he smiled the friendly smile she’d recognized from her childhood—though when she was a child, she had not recognized the friendliness—and offered her a seat.

They’d had a polite conversation—he hadn’t recognized her, and she made no pain to remind him—and she’d begun to wonder whether the church had grown uglier, the families poorer, the priest kinder, or if it was her who had changed.  She’d eyed the church and the priest and wondered if those stale biscuits hadn’t been more kindness than she’d thought.  The place did not seem like it could spare a speck of food now, at least.

After they’d concluded their small talk, the priest had looked at her quizzically.  She’d had a moment of pure panic—the first one in years—where she thought he recognized her. 

But he only said, “Would you like to receive the Sacrament of Penance?”

She hadn’t known what he meant, and had allowed it to show. 

He’d looked sympathetic.  “It is a confessional. It is a way of unburdening the soul, even if you are not Catholic.”

She’d laughed, and it had felt hollow to her own ears. “I am not sure I have a soul, Father.”

He’d looked sad, and she’d felt a pang of guilt causing it.  “You are only lost.  Come.”

They’d knelt in the confessional. 

“I do not know where to begin,” she’d said. 

“I find many like to start with small sins and work their way up,” he’d said, a smile in his voice.

“I am not certain I could tell the difference,” she’d said. 

He’d hummed quietly.  “Perhaps it would help to think of it as a debt.  When you take something that is not your own, you must give it back.  It does not have to be tangible—you can take someone’s pride, or integrity, and thus sin against them.  The value of the item determines the magnitude of the sin.  When your sins are absolved, you go back into the black, as it were.”

Natasha had leant her head against the cool wood of the booth.  “My ledger is red, Father.  Through and through.”

“There is always a way, my child,” he’d said quietly.

She’d left that tiny church and the priest she hadn’t known she’d loved and returned to her client, the one who had hired her and dozens like her to build himself an empire on the bodies of his competitors.  Natasha had killed him that night—her first justice killing—and Russia for good.  Stepping on the train out of Moscow, she could imagine her ledger filled with red columns of numbers except for one tiny black line.  The first of many. 

Her ledger was still more red than black, she knew.  She was still atoning, slowly but surely. 

But she could not make this decision.  She could not choose where the tesseract would go.  Because though she could tally her debts, Natasha was not certain she could discern Right from Wrong. 

So she watched Loki carefully, knowing she was leaving the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	39. Schemes and Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a plan and a visitor.

Loki rubbed his forehead as he thought.  He had a plan.  A good plan, he thought.  One that would take the best of both options—hiding and using the tesseract—as well as the good of the earth into account.  There were problems, however. 

First of all, though he believed the plan made the best of a bad situation, he doubted the other factions would agree.  Coulson at least, would do anything to bring the tesseract back to the United States, Loki was sure.  It was a magician’s trick he needed to pull off—having everyone stare at one hand while the other was occupied with the real business.

Loki glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eye.  The boy was his right-hand man in more ways than one, Loki was beginning to see.  And that was another problem with the plan.

Loki knew his younger friend was feeling the strain of the spy lifestyle.  Loki knew in his heart that while Peter had a gift for deception, he was not made for the spying life.  He had too many principles, too many ethics to uphold.  But Loki was confident Peter would help him in this final part of the plan.  It would require a measure of deception, but Peter knew what they were doing was right. 

He glanced over to Natasha.  She was looking idly out of the window, her hand loosely clasped in Clint’s.  It was such an innocent gesture that Loki could not help but smile.

Natasha caught his glance and smiled back, a small but genuine expression.  They had all agreed with his plan.  Clint, Peter, and her.  But Natasha had admitted long ago that she did not trust herself with the issues of morality.  Loki trusted that she knew herself well enough to judge, and had not pressed the issue.  But she had agreed that the plan made sense from a logical perspective at least.  That was good enough for him. 

Clint had been pleased.  He was, at heart, a rebel.  His distrust of authority was the only reason he hadn’t been recruited by Fury in the camp. It was also one of the main reasons Loki had chosen him to be part of his team.  And this plan would greatly inconvenience and displease a number of large institutions.  Clint was thrilled.

Peter was, if not pleased, at least satisfied.  Peter was a wellspring of hope, and he believed the tesseract’s use could be the key to rebuilding the world once (if) this war finished.  The plan would ensure the artifact’s use would be possible—though not for a long while. 

Loki nodded to himself.  This was the best plan.  The only issue was implementation.

Loki was pondering the specifics of this when another knock came on the door to the compartment.  Loki looked up in surprise.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha slip her hand inside her coat to rest on a dagger.  She nodded to Clint.

Clint stood and slid open the wooden door to reveal Thor standing outside, looking sheepish and hesitant—an odd combination on his brother’s face.

“May I come in?”

***

Loki sat frozen to his seat.  In all the excitement over the tesseract, he had forgotten that his brother intended to speak to him on this trip.  He wished his brother had forgotten as well.

Natasha glanced from between Loki and Thor.  If Loki had more of his wits about him, he might have shot her a pleading glance, useless as it would have been.

She stood, gesturing to Clint and Peter.  The two other men stood (Peter rather hesitantly). 

“We will give you some privacy, I think,” Natasha said to Thor.  She turned to Loki.  “We will be in the other compartment if you need us, зайчик.”

Loki nodded shakily, his eyes still on Thor.  He barely registered her using the old nickname she had given him in their early days spying together.

Thor stood aside for the others to sidle out of the compartment before sitting opposite Loki.

The other man seemed to fill the tiny compartment, as he always had.  It was one of many things Loki had hated about his brother when they were children that Thor could neither see nor remedy, but was nevertheless detestable to the always-invisible Loki.  The man just had a natural aura that attracted attention like moths to flames. 

Thor spent a few moments shifting into his seat, trying to get comfortable.  He had always been uncomfortable on long train rides; they were too full of quietness and inactivity. 

After a silence, Thor cleared his throat.  Thor was also uncomfortable with long silences. 

“You look well,” Loki ventured.  In truth, Thor looked older.  It was disconcerting to see lines etched into his brother’s face—lines that had not been there when Loki had…left.  The faintest half-moons at the corners of his mouth and eyes.  Evidence of laughter and mirth.

Thor gave a faint smile—only the slightest deepening of those lines. 

“You…” Thor paused, raking his eyes up and down Loki’s body.  Loki felt a pang of self-consciousness before Thor continued.  “You look well, as well.”

Loki could hear that it was not the whole truth, but ignored it.  His had not been the whole truth, either, and fair was fair.

“Mother sends her love,” Thor said after another silence. “I believe she lost fifty years off her age when we learned you yet lived.”

Loki could feel the shame flame across his face.  “Would it comfort you to know that I did not intend for it to turn out that way?”  He asked.

Thor frowned, his forehead furrowing into deep lines of displeasure.  “It would not.” He said, his voice deepening dangerously.

Loki frowned back, but his was consternation rather than anger.  Would Thor not be glad that his brother had not willingly hurt their mother?  Was it not better that it was unintentional? 

Thor searched his expression before sighing, the frown smoothing out again. 

“Oh Loki,” Thor said.  And Loki found himself in another long embrace, though this one was gentler by far than the one he had received in the HJ Hall.  It took his breath away nonetheless. 

“It would never comfort me to know that you wished to end your life,” Thor muttered into Loki’s ear.

***

Thor held his brother to him, more carefully than he had since they were both children. 

Thor had done a great deal of thinking since seeing his brother again.  And one of the many conclusions he had come to was that he had been careless where his brother was concerned, neglectful, even.

 No matter what his brother said, Thor was not stupid.  He was brash, impulsive, immature even, but not stupid.  It did not take long for young Thor to figure out there was a difference in the way people treated him and his brother.  It took even less time for Thor to run to their mother and ask why.

Frigga had set young Thor down on her lap and told him he was the people’s favorite.  Thor’s little chest had swelled with pride.  _He was favorite!  That meant he was best!_ He had thought naively, not knowing quite yet that if there was a favorite, a best, there would be a not-favorite, a second-best.

Frigga had stemmed that tide of vanity right then.  She had kindly explained it was because he was first-born and because he had been born at a time when people desperately needed something on which to focus their affections. 

“I love you dearly, my son, but it is only the circumstances of your birth that elevate you.  It is important for royalty to remember this, Love.”

Thor had deflated some.  “But what about Loki?” Thor had asked.  It was already a question he was accustomed to asking. 

Frigga had sighed.  “Loki is younger, Love.  He has never been put in the spotlight as you have.  Which I believe has been good for him in many ways.  But you must understand that Loki has and will feel rejected by those who pass over him for you.  Because people will, Thor.”

Thor had felt horrible.  Thor loved his little brother dearly.  He wanted to be the best big brother he could be.  But how could he when people mistreated his brother and he was to blame.  A wave of guilt passed through him. 

“What can I do?” He had asked his mother, feeling pathetic and sad. 

His mother had squeezed him—he got the impression that she was proud of him for something, but he could not pinpoint what—and said, “You must mind your brother, Thor.  Loki loves you; he always will.  But he has rejection from all sides—you cannot allow him to find rejection in you as well.  It would break his heart.”

Thor had nodded seriously, his little boy heart set on doing exactly as his mother had said. 

And he had done exactly that for a good long while.  Loki and he had been best friends and confidants.  And then adolescence had come and they had felt so different from one another.  It seemed they had nothing in common but their parentage.  Thor had begun to spend more and more of his time with the Warriors Three, and Loki, well, he could not remember who his brother spent his time with, if anyone.

But their relationship could have been rectified if that had been the end of it, Thor thought.  They had grown apart as siblings often do, but a few years and some perspective would have remedied it, he was sure. 

But Thor had forgotten, or perhaps assumed that his brother no longer needed his consideration.  He let his friends talk about his brother as they would, telling himself that Loki was a man, and could take a few unkind words.  And then he had begun to speak like them, a slow but sure merging of their opinions. 

And still, Thor knew that had that been the extent of it, Loki would have forgiven him.  No, the breaking point was later, when Thor had sided with Sif over their fight.  It was this that made Thor truly guilty.

Sif had always been a part of their lives.  She had always been more Thor’s friend than Loki’s, and Thor had always assumed his brother felt the same way about her as he himself did—that she was like a younger sister or cousin.  He had been appalled when they were betrothed, had ranted and raved to his parents, complained to his brother, and, all in all, through a royal tantrum. 

He had not noticed his brother’s quiet withdrawal into himself, nor the sudden closeness between the two when Sif was finally able to join the army as she wished. 

When it had finally gotten around that the two of them were perhaps more than friends, Thor had been betrayed.  Why had they not told him?  Why would they keep it from him?  Sif, he could understand feeling that she would be seen as just another maiden in love, but Loki?  Surely his brother would tell him about this major step in his life.

But Loki had not.  Thor was still unsure why.  Perhaps because he thought his brother would be angry for stealing his betrothed away, or perhaps because they had grown apart and he could not be sure of Thor’s reaction, or perhaps simply because he wanted something in his life of which his brother had no part. 

Whatever Loki’s reasoning, Thor had been hurt that he had been deceived.  So when Sif and Loki had begun the messy resolution of their romance, he had taken Sif’s side rather than his brother’s. 

Loki, of course, saw this for the rejection it was.  He had probably felt more alone and betrayed than he ever had before.  It should not have been surprising when Loki had reacted with petty anger in return, flaunting Sigyn’s engagement before them.  From there it had escalated wildly, each childish jab earning another until the two brothers refused to speak to one another for months before their mother forced them to reconcile.

Soon after Loki had gone abroad to school, and Thor had joined the army, and their relationship, though strained, was at least not quite as incendiary as it had been before. 

After a while, Thor thought it was all forgotten and forgiven, understood to be a thing of the past.  But Loki’s trust in Thor had been broken, he knew.  His brother no longer came to him with his problems, no longer told him of his triumphs.  Loki hid himself away so well that when he broke, no one he to whom he could turn to put him back together.  And that was Thor’s fault.  Because Thor had been the one to allow Loki to believe their only connection was the blood they shared.  Who allowed his brother to sequester himself from the world and believe that all trust would be broken.  It was Thor who allowed his brother to believe suicide was the only answer.

Thor held his brother close in this tiny train carriage, and he felt guilty and sad and so very, very grateful because he had never thought he would be able to do this again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have some good news with some unfortunate consequences. My one job just doubled my hours, without a corresponding decrease in hours at my other job. Which is good because I can pay my bills, but bad because I now have about half the free time I had before. I tried to keep up the writing schedule this week, and it was...painful. So I unfortunately will only be posting once a week from now on (Sundays). I hope for these chapters to be a bit longer (around 3,500-4,000 words), so I will still be writing about the same amount, but with only one deadline per week. Very sorry for any disappointments. 
> 
> On a happier note, I *think* next week we will see Loki's plan in action (I know it was mean to give you a tiny taste and then say I'm not posting til Sunday, but be happy because it will give me time to really plan it out right) and since the chapter will be longer, it won't be as choppy as it might have been.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	40. Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki have an unexpected conversation.

It took a deep breath and a covert wipe of Loki’s cheeks for him to be able to look his brother in the eye again.  Loki would have been more embarrassed if Thor was not unashamedly rubbing his own tears away.

Loki cleared his throat.  He had never been comfortable with displays of excess emotion.  They just seemed so crass.

Thor, though, had always been a man of grand gestures.  Loki could admit it was less annoying when the grand gesture was caused by affection for himself.   He did not wish to pursue that particular train of thought. 

“You wanted to speak?”  He asked, his voice coarse.

Thor had somehow migrated from the seat across from Loki to the one right beside him, with his arm protectively draped over Loki’s shoulders.  He almost felt boxed in by the sheer presence of his brother. 

“Yes,” Thor said, his voice sounding rough still.  “I wished to apologize.”

Loki nodded stiffly. 

He was not sure he wanted that. An apology.  Yes, Thor had done much that required apology, but if Thor apologized—really, truly apologized—then it would mean Loki would have to make a decision.  He could either accept the apology or deny it.  But it would no longer be in Thor’s hands, but his own.  He would have power over the future of their relationship. 

Loki was not sure he wanted that power.  It had been so much easier just to blame Thor for their falling-out.   It was so much simpler to hate him than sorting through the many conflicting feelings he had concerning his brother.

Thor reached over and put a hand on Loki’s jittering knee, stilling his fidgets.

“I am sorry, Loki,” Thor said.  And he sounded older than Odin when he said it.  “I was meant to be your brother and stand beside you in all things, and I have failed you in that.  And when you needed me most, I was not there for you.  Please know that if I could do it again, I would do everything differently.”

Loki could not look at him.  He felt a flash of anger at Thor for making it hard for him, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone again.  Of course it was hard.  Thor was his brother.  He could never be anything but difficult it seemed. 

But Loki knew, deep in the guts of him, that there was only one answer to Thor’s unspoken question.

Loki could not trust himself to speak; he nodded his head mutely, hoping that Thor could figure that out at least.  It seemed the message was received when Thor again wrapped his arms around Loki and he felt himself relax into an embrace he had refused to miss. 

After a few moments Loki managed to get himself back together enough to shrug Thor off, saying, “You have gotten heavier since I left.” 

Thor chuckled a bit.  “No, it is you who have gotten lighter,” Thor said, circling a hand around Loki’s wrist.  His finger and thumb overlapped to the first joint.  “You are too skinny, brother,” Thor said, sounding sad.

Loki shifted in his seat.  Even though they were reconciled, Loki still felt at a loss as to what to do with his brother. 

Thor seemed at a similar loss.  “Peter is very protective of you.” He said after a moment. 

Loki chuckled.  “He is a peculiar young man,” he said. 

“Fandral says he is just like you were at that age.”

Loki snorted.  “I was never that innocent.”  Thor said nothing and Loki turned to look at him.  “What do you think?” Loki asked.

“I think,” Thor said quietly, “that he is very lucky to have you.”

Loki felt his ears heat in a flush.  He tilted his head away in an effort to hide it.  If Thor noticed, he did not comment.

“What will you do?” Thor asked after a moment.

Loki stiffened slightly.  “You mean will I go back to Asgard,” he said, his voice darkening.

“No, I mean ‘What will you do?’” Thor said.  And he was not even irritated with Loki’s snappishness.  It was annoying.

Loki thought for a moment.  He was not entirely sure what he would do.  Depending on how his plan progressed, it was likely that he would be exiled from four different countries—a fugitive from four different laws.

“I am not sure,” Loki said.  “Perhaps I will settle down on some farm and raise goats.”

Thor chuckled.  “You would go mad from boredom in a week, brother.”

“No, I think it would be relaxing.  Perhaps I will find a homestead in Saskatchewan. ”

“I do not even know where such a place exists,” Thor said, a smile on his face.

“It is in Canada.  I have never seen it, but it is an enjoyable word to say.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed, his smile fond.  “And will there be a Missus Saskatchewan?”

 “Sif loathes farming,” Loki said without thinking.  He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Thor shrugged.  “So do you,” he pointed out.  “You could raise dozens of miserable children together.”

Loki’s laugh was a bit hysterical.  “I do not think there are any children to be had, whether they be miserable or not.”

Thor sighed.  “Loki, sometimes I wonder that for all your education, you have been learning all the wrong lessons.”

“That is very erudite, have you been practicing?”  Loki said, feeling irritated.  He had never taken slights about his intelligence well.

“Yes.” Thor said shortly.  “But that is not my point.  I only mean that there could be some truth to the old saying.”

“What old saying?”

“That love makes fools of all men.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but Thor held up a hand.  “Loki, please.  You are one of the cleverest men I know, but where Sif is concerned, you have never made intelligent choices.”

Loki glared but said nothing. 

Thor pursed his lips, and Loki could see him consider his next words carefully.  It was odd to see such foresight on his brother’s face.  Loki was beginning to like it. 

“Sif is—“ Thor stopped and started again.  “No soldier can stand his post forever,” Thor said hesitantly.  “Sif knows that.”

Loki narrowed his eyes.  “Sif will not give up her career for me:  do not insinuate otherwise.  And I would never ask that of her.”

Thor raised his hands in defense.  “I did not mean to insinuate.  It is only—I will not be a soldier forever.  Nor shall Fandral or Hogun or Volstagg.  When I have done my duty I will be a king and father.  My men will become fathers and farmers. Why should she not have the same opportunity?”

“She—she does not want it.”

Thor raised an eyebrow.  “Have you asked her?”

Loki’s silence was answer enough.  Thor sighed. 

“Would you deny her a family without asking what she wants?”  He asked.

“She wanted nothing but to be a soldier,” Loki said stubbornly. 

“I have never met one person in my life who has only wanted one thing,” Thor said, giving Loki a significant look.  When all he got in return is a blank stare from Loki, Thor sighed again.  “She wanted you, Loki.  She still does.”

“I cannot allow her to sacrifice all that she has accomplished for me,” Loki said, feeling frustrated that they were even arguing about this.  

Thor gave him a look that said Loki was being an incredible fool again.   “I would very much like to see you try to disallow Sif anything that she wants.”

It was Loki’s turn to sigh.  “Thor, it is simple.  Either I go back to Asgard and live a miserable life, my one point of light being Sif’s presence, clinging to her like a strangling vine, or she comes away with me and we are slowly poisoned by bitterness and resentfulness because she would be giving up her life in Asgard.”

“It does not have to be that way,” Thor argued stubbornly.  “Love finds a way.”

Loki laughed hollowly.  “Did you read that in a harlequin romance? There are some things that love cannot remedy, Thor.  Thinking so is just childish.”

“No, giving up is childish,” Thor said.  “You could make it work if you tried hard enough.  But you are afraid, and she is afraid, and I just want to bang your heads together until some sense is made.”

Loki laughed again, and this one actually had some humor to it.  “Now you know how I felt the entirety of our adolescence.”

Thor’s face instantly lightened as he chuckled.  After a moment, he sobered.  Taking a deep breath, as if to ready himself for something, he asked, “And this farm in Saskatchewan, will I have the address?  Perhaps write you long, rambling letters, and send you horrid and useless Christmas gifts?”

He seemed to be trying to joke, but his smile had a horrible pasted-on quality.  He looked so sick and worried that Loki found himself nodding before he really thought the question over.  It figured—he had never been able to deny Thor anything, it seemed.

“Only if you promise to send alcohol with those gifts,” he said, already feeling warm and just a little bit trapped:  A familiar sensation with regards to his family.  “Enough to make them seem like good ideas.”

Thor smiled, but it seemed odd.  “Yes, Sif said you were drinking now,” he said.

Loki crossed his arms and immediately felt angry at himself for the defensiveness of the gesture.

“Yes,” he said flatly, daring Thor to comment.  Thor wisely maintained his silence.  He only nodded slowly, storing that away in his mind.

They sat for a few moments in silence.  Loki deliberately uncrossed his arms and leaned back in the train seat.

If he had allowed himself to imagine a reunion with his brother, never in a million years would he list discussion topics as _chiding Loki for his drinking,_ or _offering love advice,_ or _the Canadian province of Saskatchewan._ He had half-expected his brother to come to his senses and kill him for causing their mother so much grief.  Or perhaps for disgracing their father, or perhaps simply because Loki was not truly his brother. 

Loki looked at Thor out of the corner of his eye.  There was a time when he had thought Thor was the noblest, kindest, most perfect person in the world.  Loki had resented the Asgardian population’s love of their first prince, but that did not mean he was not caught up in it as much as they were.  Thor had been his idol. 

At some point, he had grown up and realized that Thor was not perfect.  He was vain and reckless and spoiled.  But when that change had come—when Loki had realized his brother was not perfect, he had demonized the flaws he saw in his brother, not seeing how the noble and the ignoble could coexist in the same being. 

Loki could see it now.    Thor was neither angel nor demon:  he was only a human like everyone else.  His flaws did not counteract his virtues, nor did his virtues excuse his flaws. 

Nevertheless, Loki was beginning to think he might like the man his brother had become, if he gave it time.  Whether they had that time, was another story. 

Thor cleared his throat awkwardly, and Loki looked at him with a questioning quirk to his eyebrows. 

Thor hesitated for a moment before asking, “So the tesseract is not going to Asgard?”

Loki made a great show of looking at his watch.  “Hm,” he said.  “Nearly an hour.  I would not have expected you to last this long.”

Thor looked sheepish.  “I am only concerned,” he said.  “Mother said I was not to interfere.”

Loki sighed.  “I have a plan that will keep it as safe as possible.  But no, it will not be returning to Asgard.”

Thor did not look especially pleased, but neither did he look as upset as Loki would have guessed. 

“You did not want it in Asgard?” Loki asked.  Odin wanted the tesseract back in his vaults, surely Thor would agree.

Thor shrugged.  “I always thought it was a waste for something so powerful to be left to mildew in a catacomb.  That is not to say that I am glad.  I have no wish to experience the destruction it can release.  But I am not overly disappointed, no.”

Loki nodded.  He supposed that made sense.  Thor had always been a very vital person and the thought of leaving power unused would seem very impotent to him indeed.

He frowned at his brother.  Closely following the revelation that the tesseract was taken by someone in Asgard came the realization that Loki might not only know the thief, but they could be on this very train.  This very compartment.

Thor could not have given the tesseract away, surely.  He was brash and hasty but he was not entirely without thought.  He could not have given away such power simply because he wanted to see it used. 

Thor noticed Loki’s gaze.  “What is it, brother?”

“I am worried concerned about the theft of the tesseract,” Loki said slowly.

Thor nodded.  “It is concerning indeed,” he said, his voice serious.

Loki hesitated for a moment before continuing.  “Have you any idea how it could have made it out of the vaults?”

Thor leaned forward confidentially.  “I think it must have been an inside man.”

_Ah,_ Loki thought.  _And things were going so well._

***

Thor watched in confusion as his brother’s face slowly shuttered.  He wanted to scream in frustration.  He was being so careful!  He had been doing well! What had he done this time?

He slowly replayed over their conversation in his mind.  It was not his meddling with Loki’s love life, or his request to remain in contact with his brother.  What on earth had he done? 

They had been talking about the tesseract.  But Thor had said he did not mind if Loki bestowed it upon another nation.  And then there was that comment about—Oh.

Loki thought Thor had given the tesseract away.  Thor felt a quick flash of anger—there and gone—that his brother believed it of him.  But it was gone in an instant with the residual feeling that it was his own fault what his brother believed of him. 

“I did not steal the tesseract,” Thor said calmly.  But it was again the wrong thing to say, because Loki’s face seemed to become a mask at those words.

“I did not say that you had, Thor,” Loki said evenly.  He was using his diplomat voice, smooth and impersonal. Thor wanted to shout in frustration.

“You think I did, though, and I did not,” he said, his voice growing louder. 

Loki, in contrast, lowered his voice.  “Why would I believe that?”  He said softly.  It was like he was baiting a hook for Thor to hang himself on.  Thor hated it.

Thor leaned forward suddenly and his brother flinched back.  It was barely noticeable, but Loki had never flinched from Thor before, and he felt all of the anger go out of him. 

“I did not take the tesseract from Asgard, Loki,” Thor said quietly.  “I said it seemed a waste that it was never put to use, but that does not mean I do not see the wisdom of keeping it locked away from the world.  I would not take it out of safety simply for my own amusement.  But now that it _is_ out in the world, it seems useless to lock it up again.  That is what I meant by my words.”

Thor watched as his brother processed this.  Loki did not seem overly convinced, but neither was he closed to the idea.

“Besides,” Thor continued, allowing a small smile to infect his voice.  “I am nowhere near clever enough to steal the tesseract without leaving a trace.”

The blankness seemed to bleed out of Loki’s face at that comment.  His smile was small—barely noticeable—but genuine.   He chuckled.

“That _is_ true.  I do apologize.”

Thor waved the apology away.  He did not need it. 

“It must have been someone inside the palace, though,” Loki continued.  “There is no way that the Nazis stole it without inside help.”

Thor nodded.  “That was my understanding.  But I do not see why it matters so.  You have decided not to give it back to Asgard, why worry about our security?” 

 “There is more in that vault than just the tesseract,” Loki pointed out.  “If one artifact was taken, who is to say the others are not vulnerable as well?”

Thor frowned.  He had not thought of that.  “But nothing else has been stolen.  And there are many more powerful artifacts than the tesseract.”

“Exactly,” Loki said.  “So why were they not taken as well?  The gems take up very little space, it could not have been the logistics of smuggling them out.”

“Perhaps,” Thor said slowly.  “It is not as simple as it seems.”

Loki gave him an irritated look.  It reminded Thor so strongly of their childhood arguments that he could only smile back at him.

Loki rolled his eyes.  “It does not seem simple at all,” he said.  “There is something else going on and I do not have enough information to even guess at it.”

Thor thought it over.  The man who had taken the tesseract had made himself a traitor to his own country and had endangered the entire world.  Thor pushed past the instinctual rage at such an action and tried to think objectively. 

Odin had taught his sons the motivations of kings and peasants.  If you knew what drove someone, what got them up in the morning and took them home at night, you could better anticipate their actions and manipulate them to your own plans.

Odin had always drummed into Thor’s head—because he had never truly understood it as a child—that the smallest things had the biggest impact.  Petty arguments or slights could lose a king a treaty.  Old resentments tended to rear their heads at just the time to ruin a carefully constructed plan. 

Surely money alone could not be the motivator.  Money was not enough to betray a country, was it?  Thor could not believe it so.  Besides, if it was money, then they would have taken the gems and other various and sundry artifacts to gain a higher price.  No, there was something else at work. 

If money was not the motivator, then there had to be something else.  The biggest motivators for desperate acts always seemed to be variations of three things:  money, revenge, and love.

Money was not it, Thor decided.  It simply did not make sense.

Revenge was next, and again, Thor found himself unwilling to believe it.  The country of Asgard had angered plenty of people, as all countries do. But when one seeks vengeance on a country, one does not steal something that they were not even using.  Especially when it could be used to kill thousands, millions of people. 

Perhaps if the revenge was more personal.  Though the tesseract rested in Asgard, it was technically the property of the king and the royal family.  Perhaps its theft was a slight against the Allfather, meant to disgrace his ability to keep even the most secret of artifacts safe.

Thor thought that a likely solution, but the Allfather had always said that stopping at likely solutions was never smart.  The likely solution is often the easiest solution and likely to be a smokescreen, he’d said.

Love was the last motivator.  Thor could not see how it could possibly apply here, though.  How could a theft and betrayal be in the service of love? 

Perhaps if the Nazi’s threatened someone’s family, he thought. A ransom demand of the highest sort.  Or maybe the Nazi’s had a cure for some horrible disease, and demanded payment. 

Thor pictured a tortured father, watching his child die.  Yes, that sort of desperation could breed such a betrayal. 

And such a motivation would explain the presence of the gems still safely hidden within the vault.  An unwilling or reluctant traitor would not wish to magnify his wrongs by taking more than the tesseract.  He would try to lessen them by staging a heist that not only did no harm to the guards, but also took only what he needed, leaving several valuable artifacts behind. 

Yes, Thor thought. This was the answer.

He ran over the people who had access to the vault.  Surely the Nazis would have targeted—if targeting they had—someone whose presence within the vault would not be questioned. 

There were only a few people allowed inside the vault.  The guards stood at the doors, but were not permitted past the threshold.  Otherwise there were only half a dozen or so people allowed inside the vault.  Odin himself, of course, as well as Frigga and Thor.  There was a vault curator, whose job it was to keep the artifacts.  The palace engineer was also permitted, because the vault was part of a load-bearing section of the palace, and any erosion to its foundation would need to be repaired.  And finally, Hogun, who had recently become the palace’s Chief of Guards and was permitted access to all parts of the palace for security.

Thor found it difficult to believe that any of them would betray their country. 

A sudden thought struck him.  Perhaps…No.  Surely not. 

Thor glanced at his brother, who was still deep in thought.  It would do him no good to tell Loki—Thor had only his gut reaction and running to Loki with that would do him no favors. 

“Brother,” he said slowly.  This was not deception. It was only patience.  Something Loki himself often counseled Thor to use more often.  “Brother, leave this with me.  You have far too many issues with which to grapple.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor.  Thor could see he was suspicious, but his brother only nodded sharply. 

“Very well,” he said, grudging in his agreement.  “But I would request something in return.

Thor nodded eagerly.  There was a sort of vulnerability that came with asking for something, Thor had found.  Loki seemed to sense it as well, because he looked hesitant to continue.

“I would,” Loki said slowly.  “I would have your oath that, whatever happens at the end of this journey, you will protect Peter.”

In the back of his head, Thor could feel the questions swirling, wondering what Loki expected to happen when they reached Switzerland.  From what exactly would Peter need protection. 

It did not matter, though.  Loki needed something, and he had come to Thor for it. Thor nodded solemnly.  He would do this for his brother, whatever the consequences. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	41. Searchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prisoners get into hot water when word gets out that POW's have escaped.
> 
> Slight warning for mentions of torture.

The first searchers boarded the train in Freiburg.  Two men dressed in the uniform of the German Army.  Tony watched them from his seat and found himself thinking, _well, at least they aren’t Gestapo._

They weren’t even especially threatening-looking soldiers, Tony had to admit, even as his heart pounded faster.  One was young and pale to an unhealthy extent while the other was older, more suited to a walking stick than a rifle.  They could still spell the entire outfit’s doom, Tony reminded himself. 

He and Steve were still in the open carriage with Coulson, Rhodey and the Asgardians save for Thor.  The man had left the carriage not long ago and Tony watched curiously as Natasha, Peter, and Clint returned to the open carriage without Thor and Loki.  It seemed the brothers were having a little reunion in Tony’s private compartment while Tony was sweating the searching soldiers.  God, he hated his inherent generosity sometimes.

Tony had known to expect the soldiers.  As soon as the Kommandant knew about the escape, he would have told Maria Hill to send alerts to train stations and borders.  Coulson had said that she delayed these orders, but Tony knew there was only so long she could protect them before endangering herself. 

They were lucky, he supposed.  Freiburg was only about thirty miles from the border to Switzerland.  It was astonishing they’d gotten this far without incident.

Tony adjusted the newspaper he was pretending to read, but was actually hiding behind.  It looked like the men had only been alerted to the possibility of escapees, but not given any names or photographs to go off of, since they’d looked both him and Steve right in the face and not recognized them.  That was a plus, at least. 

The two soldiers were slowly walking up the aisle of the train, checking tickets and papers.  Tony  could feel his heart beating faster as they approached the prisoners. 

Clint, Natasha, and Peter were the closest to the front of the carriage, and Tony spent a tense few seconds  rereading the same sentence over and over as the soldiers scrutinized their identity cards.  He tried not to visibly relax when the soldiers handed the papers back without comment.

Next were Coulson and Rhodey.  Rhodey got an odd look from the two men, but he had taken German classes from Tony and answered all their questions with a calm disinterest that would have fooled Tony if he had not known better.  They still took a far greater time staring at the photo and holding the paper up to the light but Steve and his forgers were almost better than the German letterers by that point.  The soldier reluctantly handed the identity card back without further question.

Finally they were at Steve and Tony’s seats.  

“Papers, please,” the young one asked in German.

Steve  handed his over.  Tony could feel him holding his breath, his ribs stiff against Tony’s elbow, as the man inspected the identity cards and ticket. 

“Thank you, sir,” The boy soldier said, sounding bored.  “Papers, sir?”

Steve elbowed Tony in the ribs and he lowered his newspaper irritably.  Tony had learned long ago that the best way to avoid suspicion was to play to other people’s perceptions.  And with his well-tailored suit (Selvig was just too good) and shined shoes, Tony was willing to bet that he looked like the rich asshole that he’d been before the war. 

He glared at the soldier.  “What?” He asked in annoyed German. 

“Papers, please,” the soldier said, a long-suffering look on his face.  Obviously Tony wasn’t the only annoying rich person he’d had to bother that night.

“Why?” Tony asked belligerently.  “I gave my papers to the ticket taker and the conductor, goddammit!”  He started rummaging in his pockets, continuing in an irritable voice. “The amount of paperwork these days is just appalling, I can’t see how anyone gets anything done.  Shouldn’t you two be off fighting somewhere?  I mean really, this is just ridiculous.”

He handed over the papers, still ranting and raving about the amount of paperwork and people doing their jobs, etc., etc.  The soldier gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Tony, looking glad to get away from him.

Tony huffed in feigned annoyance and lifted his paper again.  Before he could start reading, the soldier turned around again to speak again.

“I must say you speak very good German, sir,” the soldier said so casually Tony almost didn’t notice he’d switched to English.

Tony managed to keep the unbalance he suddenly felt off of his face.  He frowned thunderously.  “What are you on about?” he demanded in German. 

When the young man looked chagrined, Tony continued to grumble about time-wasters and ridiculous men who didn’t deserve the power they had. 

The soldier continued on without further harassment.

Steve shot Tony a glance that meant Tony had given him a heart-attack, and if the German soldiers weren’t still in earshot, Tony would be getting the lecture of his life.  Tony just grinned and went back to his newspaper.    

The Germans had moved onto the Asgardians and it was them, oddly enough, that sparked the most suspicion.  Tony thought it was probably because all of the Asgardians were armed. 

The older soldier carefully inspected the papers (he had to bring out half-moon shaped eyeglasses for the task) as the other argued with Sif. 

“You need permits to carry these weapons.  I must confiscate them,” the soldier said, and Tony almost felt bad for him when Sif shot him a glare.

“You can prize it out of my cold, dead hands, boy,” she said.  She did not say the words loudly, or even very aggressively, yet both Tony and the soldier gulped. 

Hogun, thankfully, stepped in before Sif could beat the poor soldier into the ground. 

“We are foreign nationals,” Hogun said calmly.  “We do not have guards with us, and thus require these for our own protection.”

The soldier looked dubious and stubborn in equal measure until his older friend hit him in the chest with a handful of papers. 

“They have immunity, Oskar,” the other soldier said, sounding long-suffering in an almost fatherly way.  “Let the lady keep her blade.”

Oskar nodded reluctantly and the two soldiers filed through to the next carriage. 

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to sit back in his seat, but the breath caught in his lungs as saw a familiar black uniform pushing in the corridor to first class. It seemed the S.S. had arrived after all.

***

Thor leaned back against the seat, surveying his brother again.  They had reached a natural break in their conversation—Thor had been filling his brother in on the palace gossip that he knew Loki would appreciate—and Thor was enjoying the ability to simply watch his brother.  He had thought for far too long that he would never be able to do so again.

Loki seemed uncomfortable at the scrutiny.  “What is it at which you are looking, brother?” He asked and Thor tried not to grin triumphantly every time Loki called him that.  “Do you suddenly find my face entertaining?”

Thor smiled.  “I am merely glad to see you again, brother,” he said.  It was the truth—Thor was most certainly glad to see his brother—but in the back of his mind he was also tallying up the changes he could notice in his little brother’s countenance. 

Thor knew he had not paid the best attention to his brother, but he could still see changes from the last time they had met.  The physical was the most obvious.  Loki was thinner, his hair shorter, his clothes more ragged.  But those were superficial.  Manifestations of the change of status, not state of mind. 

Those changes Thor found in Loki’s voice and face and body language.  Loki had always been a very good speaker.  His diction was perfect, his words measured and calculated.  That had not changed totally—Loki was still Loki, of course—but Thor noticed he spoke…looser.  _No,_ Thor thought, frustrated with his inability to place it into words.  It was more like, when Loki was in Asgard, he had thought about his words because he was sure the next one would be used against him.  So he kept them close and only gave away the most potent, lining them up like soldiers to send to war.  But now, he had confidence that no one would throw his words back in his face, and was only thoughtful out of natural disposition than paranoia.

Loki’s entire body seemed to have relaxed into a sort of confidence Thor had never seen in his brother.  Thor did not think of Loki as any kind of shrinking violet, but he could see a new assurance in his brother that had been lacking before. 

Loki’s body language in Asgard had always been so defensive.  He always had his back to the wall, his arms folded over his chest.  He took refuge in the shadows, retreating from everyone’s gaze.  Thor had been so used to this being his brother’s natural posture, that seeing it absent created a great well of guilt in him.  How had he not seen the walls coming up?  How had he not been there?

Even Loki’s facial expressions had changed.  He still retreated to that blank mask that Thor hated with a burning passion, but it was not his default expression.  He smiled more, frowned more, showed emotions from annoyance to discomfort with a freedom Thor did not know Loki possessed. 

It was as if Thor was seeing the real man Loki was supposed to be.  Like he was seeing the man his baby brother would have been if he had felt he could be.  It was saddening in heavy way that settled in his chest like a stone. 

Loki still seemed stiff under Thor’s scrutiny, but he had decided to ignore his brother’s odd behavior, staring out at the German countryside as they passed through it. 

It was terrible, Thor thought suddenly, that it took Loki completely falling apart—attempting suicide, leaving everything he knew, fighting in a war, becoming a prisoner—for him to build himself a life where he could be happy.  They were in the midst of a tense political and combative situation, yet Loki was more relaxed here than he had ever been at a family dinner on Asgard.  The lump of guilt in Thor’s chest only grew heavier.

Loki glanced back from the window to his brother.  He seemed to notice Thor’s slumping mood, because he frowned.  “Really, Thor, what is wrong?”

“Nothing, brother.  I am just…I think—“  Thor fell silent, frustrated again.  He wanted to say that he was happy and sad at the same time.  That he was glad his brother was more content, healthier, freer since leaving Asgard, but sad that he could not find that happiness and freedom at home.  He was pleased because he could see his brother again after months of thinking it impossible, but sad because after today he might never see him again. 

He wanted to say that he knew it was proud of his brother for rebuilding a life when the old one had fallen apart around him.  Proud that he allowed himself to trust enough to find people like Peter and Natasha and Barton.  Proud that he was fighting for what he believed was right, and doing it well. 

Thor wanted to say all of that, but he could not find the words.  He had always envied Loki’s ability to line up words so they said exactly what he meant, rather than saying the words and then realizing what he had meant was not what others had heard. 

So instead, he said, “I just mean to say:  I love you, Loki.” 

Loki smiled a soft, genuine smile and Thor knew that he had not been misunderstood.

He smiled back, and everything was alright for a moment. 

Then a knock came on the door.

***

Loki smiled at his brother for a moment.  He could see there was more that Thor wanted to say—the man had never been gifted at hiding his thoughts—but for once he did not allow his mind to fill in the gaps of the conversation with his own imagined jibes and insults.  He only enjoyed the moment.

A moment later he was very glad he had. 

Thor got up to open the door and Loki could feel the color drain from his face as a tall, black-clad figure stepped through.

He sat, frozen, as the black-clad man turned to close the door behind him, essentially trapping them in the compartment together.  The man turned back to look down at Loki with a sadistic smile and said, “Ah, Herr Walker.  Or, excuse me, I should say Odinson, should I not?  I was hoping that we would be able to continue our conversation at some point.  I never dreamed it would be so soon.”

Loki could see Thor glancing between the two of them, but Loki could not take his eyes off of the man before him. 

He suddenly felt vaguely sick, and he tore his eyes away from the man in black—from Captain Schwarz, Loki reminded himself— to stare at the train floor in an effort to keep his thoughts on the present, on the red fleur-de-lis of the well-trodden carpet and not on the feeling of chains on his wrists and the vision of concrete walls. 

Loki felt a hand touch his shoulder and he reared back his heart beating wildly before he recognized Thor had reached out as a gesture of comfort.  He shot his brother an apologetic look that Thor only frowned at.

Loki looked up again—he would not allow the mere appearance of this man to completely defeat him—to see that Schwarz was smirking sickeningly at him. 

Thor seemed to have intuited there was something less than savory about the man in front of him and had moved to put himself in between Loki and the new man.  He did not reach out again, but his presence was somehow more of a comfort than anything else Loki could have imagined.  It was a childish thought, but one he could just not shake—nothing bad could happen when his older brother was there to protect him.  It was part of the reason he had made Thor promise to protect Peter.

“Who are you?” Thor demanded, his voice full of threat.

Schwarz did not take his eyes off of Loki when he responded.  “I am Captain Paul Schwarz of the Geheime Staatspolizei.  And I am here to speak to Herr Odinson.”  He turned his smile on Thor.  “It is a private matter.”

Thor squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at Schwarz.  “Is that so,” he said.  “I will be sure to keep that in mind.”

Schwarz narrowed his eyes, his face finally devoid of that terrible smile.  Loki could not decide if that was better or worse.  “If you do not leave of your own volition, I will have you escorted out, Herr.”

Thor gave a sickly smile of his own.  “I would like to see them try,” he growled.  “I will not allow you to touch my brother.”

 “I think it is too late for that, Herr,” Schwarz said, smiling at Loki as if they were sharing a private joke.  Loki felt sick.

Thor looked like he would like to throw Schwarz off the train, and perhaps a year ago, Loki thought he might have.  He was holding his temper, now, and Loki could not help but think that at any other time he would be proud of Thor.  Right now, he almost wished his brother would act on his impulse.

“I am surprised you defend him so, Your Majesty,” Schwarz continued, giving Thor a little bow.  “I did not think it customary to defend deserters and traitors so vigorously.”

Thor actually bared his teeth at the man.  “He is no traitor,” he said, eyes flashing.  “He is my brother, and I will not tolerate such disrespect.”

Schwarz raised an eyebrow.  “Not a traitor?  How odd.  I was sure that was the definition of betraying one’s country, surely?”

Thor only glared as Schwarz continued, slowly removing his gloves as if the conversation had no weight to him.  “Has your brother not abandoned his country during a time of war, joined another nation’s military and worked against Asgardian interests? “

“He is not,” Thor said through gritted teeth, “and never shall be, a traitor.  He is my brother.”

“Hmm,” Schwarz hummed.  “So no longer a prince, then?”

Thor slammed a fist into the door frame beside Schwarz’ head.  “Have care how you speak,” he growled. 

“Thor,” Loki said softly, finally finding his voice.  When Thor continued to glare at Schwarz, he repeated it.  “Thor.”

Thor turned away from Captain Schwarz, his face still covered with rage.  “What, brother?” he asked. 

Loki looked down at his hands.  “Please leave us for a moment.  I can have this talk alone.”

Thor looked almost hurt by those words.  “Loki—“

Loki glanced at Schwarz and continued in Asgardian.  “Thor, please.  I will be perfectly fine.  There are more important things.”

Thor looked confused and still angry.  “Loki, I will not leave you alone with this man.  I am not an idiot. I can see that he has hurt you.”

Loki almost sighed.  “And you are right.  But there are more important things.  Remember your promise.  He cannot be the only one on this train.”

Thor shook his head.  “No, Loki.  Natasha and Barton are with Peter.  He will be fine.  I will not leave.”

Loki did sigh this time.  He had not wanted to mention any of his friend’s names in Schwarz’ hearing.  Hopefully the accent would through Schwarz off the scent. 

“Thor,” he said carefully.  “This is something I must face alone.”

“You have faced too many things alone,” Thor said. 

For some reason, this was the tipping point.  Thor’s concern was very touching, and on some level, Loki did not even want Thor to leave.  But he _had_ to do this alone.  He could not have his brother here for what he needed to do.

“Brother,” he said, nearly angry.  “This is a matter of honor.”

Thor frowned, but he was clearly listening. 

“On your honor,” Loki continued, “you must go to Peter.  You swore an oath, Thor.”

When Thor looked like he would  protest that his brother was more important than honor, Loki continued. 

“And on my honor,” he said, “I have to settle this.  Let me do this.”

Thor looked mutinous and worried in equal portions.  “Loki—“

“Thor,” Loki said, trying to project an aura of absolute resolution even as he was quaking on the inside at the prospect of being alone in the compartment with Schwarz.  “Do your duty.”

Thor frowned terrifically at Loki.  After a moment of silence he gave one quick nod.  “You will call me if you need me?” he asked. 

Loki nodded out of pity.  “Yes, Thor.”

Thor nodded, his mouth tight and his shoulders tense.  He glared at Schwarz as he closed the door to the compartment. 

Loki was alone with the S.S. officer. 

Schwarz turned to Loki with a smile.  “Shall we begin?”

Loki sat back in his seat.  “I suppose we shall,” he said, sounding tired to his own ears.

Schwarz grinned that same skull’s head grin.  “Oh, good,” he said as he swept into Thor’s seat.  “I will not hesitate to mention that I have missed you, Loki.  You were so delightfully…guarded.”

***

Thor leaned against the door to the compartment that housed his brother and the man who, Thor was sure, had hurt him.  Perhaps even the man who had caught Loki when he was spying for the British Intelligence. 

He had not missed the look of absolute terror that crossed Loki’s face when the man, Schwarz, entered the compartment.  In that moment, he had wanted to destroy Schwarz in the most gruesome way he could imagine.  His brother should never look afraid, Thor thought.  His brother hid fear with wit, or boredom, or blankness.  Yet this man had cut through those layers like a hot knife through butter. 

And then he had sent Thor away.  Did Loki not trust him?  No, it could not be that.  Loki entrusted him with Peter’s safety.  The boy was very important to Loki, and sending Thor to protect him was more trust than Thor had ever hoped to earn from his brother again. 

It was not honor, either.  Loki had no use for such ‘idiotic’ things.  He was far too pragmatic.

There was something else in play, then.  Something that Thor had no hope of fathoming.  He would have to trust Loki as Loki had trusted him.  All the while that…man was in the compartment with his brother.  And Loki had sent his only back up away.

Thor growled deep in his throat.  Sometimes he thought his brother was just as rash and idiotic as he professed Thor to be, he only hid it better. 

Thor lashed out, throwing a fist at the wood panel of the train’s wall, but stopping his fist an inch before it hit.  He shook out his body like he had just gone through a sparring session with the Warriors Three and gave one last glance to the door. 

Loki said he would call, Thor reminded himself.  He would have to trust his little brother had learned how to ask for help in the time he had been away. 

***

Loki sat stiffly across from Schwarz, trying to breathe normally. Schwarz waited calmly, allowing him time to pull himself together. 

It was moments like this that always made Loki hate Schwarz all the more.  The tiny kindnesses—a break in the beating, a cup of water—that made the hurt even worse when it resumed. 

“Ready, Herr Odinson?” Schwarz asked. 

Loki nodded slowly.  He reminded himself that he had a way out.  He had backup in the next carriage.  He had leverage and a plan.  He was not all alone behind enemy lines without even a cyanide pill for comfort. 

Schwarz leaned forward, reaching out towards Loki’s chest. Loki flinched back but Schwarz only ran his fingers over the silver buttons on the shirt of his German uniform.  The Captain smiled. 

“You make quite a handsome Soldat, Herr Odinson.  I almost did not recognize you.”

Loki could feel his face tightening in disgust, and he could not seem to smooth it out again. 

Schwarz continued regardless.  “I see you had no issue recognizing me, Herr Odinson.  I am glad I could make an impression.”

Loki refused to twitch, holding his shoulders stiffly. 

“You did not come here to reminisce, did you Captain?” he asked.  He looked Schwarz in the eye for the first time.  “Let us not talk around the pot.”

Schwarz smiled.  “Down to business.  You never were one to stand on ceremony, were you Herr Odinson?  Very well.

“You are caught, Herr Odinson.  Not only caught, but disguised as a Nazi officer.  Do you know what that means in conjunction with your previous record?  It means that you have been caught in the midst of espionage not once but twice.  Not to mention the recent news that an artifact of great value has gone missing suspiciously close to your Stalag III.  And, oddly enough, the Hitler Youth witness swore that it was taken by a Soldat with black hair and green eyes.”

“News travels fast,” Loki murmured. 

Schwarz nodded.  “We are nothing if not efficient, Herr Odinson.

“As things stand, you are set for an execution.  Your father’s influence may be great, but the army will not release you again.  Not after the crimes you have committed against us.”

Schwarz paused for a moment to let his words sink in.  Loki kept his face as passive as possible.

“Now you have two choices.  You can play the clam, and I will pry the tesseract out of you regardless of your comfort or the comfort of the others on this train.  After which you will return to Cologne with me where I will pick up where I left off until I have the names of every person who ever aided you, spoke to you, was spoken of to you.  And when there is nothing left for you to say, I will have you shot and buried in an unmarked grave with not even the Valkyries could find you.”

Schwarz said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it was the lack of passion that made a shiver crawl up Loki’s spine.

“Or, you can give me the names of your conspirators now, without all that ugliness,” Schwarz waved a hand carelessly, “give me the tesseract and you can return to your home with your brother on the condition that you never step foot in Germany again.”

Loki swallowed, his eyes closed.  This was the hardest part.  This was the choice.

“I am afraid you will be getting your hands dirty, Captain Schwartz,” he said slowly.

Schwarz grinned.  “I had hoped you would say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	42. The Dangers of Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Torture happens in this chapter. I tried to keep it to a minimum, but be warned.
> 
> Schwarz performs the aforementioned torture and Loki gets some answers.

Loki looked out the window.  The train was passing through black forest on its way out of Germany, and all he could see was tree after tree.  He considered counting them as a distraction but ruled it out.  No point.  Counting never helped.  It only ate up his concentration and made him feel sick to his stomach with the effort.

“Are you ready to continue, Loki?” Schwarz asked, his voice almost sickening in its kindness.

Loki licked his lips, pointedly not looking down at where his hands were spread out, bloody and broken, on the fold-down table between them. 

“A moment,” he said, his voice as steady as he could will it.  

Schwarz nodded easily, leaning back in his seat.  He regarded Loki with a sort of clinical interest.  “You are doing very well, Loki,” he praised.  It made Loki want to snarl and claw at him with what was left of his hands. But as quickly as the anger flared, it fled leaving only weariness in its wake.

“Many men,” Schwarz continued conversationally, “Many men give in almost immediately upon their recapture.  They know what to expect, you see.  Prefer the alternative.  A quick break and a quicker execution.  Honestly, with your history, I had expected you to be of that ilk.  I must admit it is a pleasant surprise to discover that this is not the case.”

Schwarz smiled and patted Loki on the hand in what would have been a kind gesture, but in Loki’s state, only produced a fresh wave of agony.  Loki let out an involuntary noise of distress.

Schwarz’ smile only widened.  “Oh, I apologize.  I had quite forgotten.”

Loki sucked in a noisy breath, trying to halt his hyperventilation before it started. 

“I do not know why I persist in being surprised with you.  I suppose each time I believe this surprise must be the last and I will peel away your next layer and reveal the real you, but each time it happens there is more to find, is there not?”

Loki looked out the window.  Trees.  He shrugged slightly.  “I am indeed a mystery, Captain,” he said, trying for amiable and landing closer to exhausted.

Schwarz frowned.  “Yes,” he said, reaching out to lay a restraining hand on Loki’s wrist.  “But rest assured I plan on solving it.”

***

The compartment smelled like blood and sweat.  Loki was glad he had not eaten for hours or he was sure the pungent scent of vomit would likely be there as well. 

Loki looked out the window.  Trees. 

He had finally reached the stage of the interrogation that allowed him to somewhat distance himself from the proceedings.  A sort of other-worldly effect that meant he still felt the pain, still heard Schwarz’ questions, but it seemed very far away, and through a fog. 

Schwarz was too experienced an interrogator to allow Loki to get to this point often—that was why he allowed frequent breaks to his subjects: he wanted them alert and feeling for the entire session—but Loki had irritated the man enough for him to lose just a touch of his usual polish.

When Loki and Schwarz had first met, Loki had been Luke Walker, a British spy and suspected assassin.  And after days of Schwarz’ company, Loki had maintained that identity, only for some paper-pusher in Berlin to discover Loki’s real identity and throw doubts on Schwarz’ capability as an interrogator.

It was not enough for Schwarz to lose his temper—Loki had never witnessed such a happening and never hoped to—but it was just enough for Schwarz to get a little sloppy.

The funny thing about torture, Loki thought in a muddy way, watching as Schwarz raised his little silver chisel, the funny thing about torture was that it was that it was precarious.  For everyone involved.  You would think that the torturer would have no risk at all, but there were just as many on the torturers’ side as the tortured. 

First of all, there was the problem of information exchange.  The idea of torture was that you obtained information at no cost to yourself.  But the reality was far from that. 

Most people forgot that an interrogation was a give and take.  The type of question that was asked revealed weaknesses in the asker’s intelligence.  The severity of the torture, and the eagerness of the torturer hinted at time tables and deadlines. 

Not to mention the potential problem of burned bridges.  It was in the very nature of espionage for enemies to become friends and vice versa in almost no time at all.  A prudent intelligencer always weighed the usefulness of the information against the likelihood of the victim to become even more useful in the future.

This was another reason Loki’s false identity likely rankled Schwarz.  Luke Walker was useful in the moment for information, but Loki Odinson might have been a useful long-term investment, had Schwarz known to act as such.  Schwarz was probably mourning that lost opportunity even as he continued his work. 

Loki was brought back into the present by a sharp slap to his shoulder.  The reverberation of the hit travelled down his arms and rattled his hands gratingly.  He hissed through his teeth.

“Pay attention, Loki,” Schwarz said chidingly.  “I am not doing this for my own edification.”

Loki was still breathless from the slap, but he raised his eyebrow in question. 

Schwarz chuckled.  “I am only teaching you a lesson, Loki.  It is something I think you should have learned from your father, but I will not fault him for his neglect.  It is so difficult to discipline children, do you not find?”

Loki glared at Schwarz, anger spiking in his gut.  Who was this man who thought he could inform Loki of Odin’s failings?  Who was he to point to flaws in a king?

A cold wash of fear followed almost immediately on the heels of the anger.  What if Schwarz knew?  What if he had somehow divined the secret of Loki’s birth? Loki felt his face drain of any blood.

Schwarz only grinned at the show of emotion. 

“And what,” Loki asked, speaking slowly so as not to slur.  “Do you think my father did wrong?”

Schwarz shook his head mournfully.  “He spoiled you, Loki.”

Loki almost wanted to laugh—both with relief and incredulity.  He settled for a snort and an amused shake of his head.  It made his vision spin so he stopped almost immediately. 

Schwarz took the headshake for a denial.  “Oh, I know it is difficult to see in oneself, but it is indeed true.  You believe that you can have everything you want, and leave nothing for anyone else.  It probably comes with being raised as a prince, I would imagine.”

Schwarz idly spun his chisel in his hands. 

“You think you are entitled to everything.  You have no concept of the compromises that happen in real life.  You believe the world is there for you to take without giving in return.”

Schwarz leaned forward, the chisel pointed casually at Loki’s throat.  “I assure you, that is not the case, Herr Odinson.”

Loki said nothing, his eyes on the chisel.  Schwarz lowered it slowly.  “I am here to educate you, Herr Odinson, on the ways of the world.”

The chisel came down hard on Loki’s knuckles and he gasped as the pain threw all other thoughts out of his mind.

***

Loki looked out of the window.  Still trees. 

He was having a difficult time keeping his mind clear.  All his thoughts jumbled together violently, and he could not seem to hold one long enough for it to fully form into anything more than an impression or a word or two. 

“—tesseract?” Schwarz said. When Loki did not answer immediately, he rapped on the table beside Loki’s hands and Loki shivered, the small movement causing a wave of agony to roll up and down his arms. 

“I do not know,” Loki slurred.  He had given up on diction long ago. 

Schwarz sighed, lying down the chisel.  He gave Loki a disappointed look.

“Loki, this stubbornness, it is just demeaning,” Schwarz said.  “You cannot hold onto this immaturity forever.  You cannot have both the tesseract and your freedom.  It is simply childish to believe it so.”

Loki frowned.  Something about those words was important.  Something was left unspoken in Schwarz’ voice, something to which he was alluding, something which Loki wanted to know. 

Schwarz had information, and he thought Loki was privy to it as well.  Loki gathered himself—it was time to go fishing. 

“Why can I not?” he asked with difficulty.  He had been able to keep mostly silent, but the effort of quieting his screams had taxed him almost as much as the screaming would have.  His throat felt like it was on fire.

Schwarz smiled, glad to have provoked a reaction that was not denial.  “Because you are smarter than this.  A deal was made.  You cannot expect to break it and walk away with everything.  It is laughable.”

Loki considered his next words for a moment. He decided the simplest approach would be the best. 

“I never made a deal with you,” he said, allowing some of his shakiness to enter his voice.  Let Schwarz believe it was the pain that caused the misunderstanding, rather than a genuine ignorance.

Schwarz laughed.  “This is exactly what I mean,” he said, gesturing with the chisel.  “You believe it does not apply to you because you had no hand in it.  But a deal was struck, and you must abide by it.”

Loki’s frown deepened.  That was ominous, he thought.  A deal had been struck concerning the tesseract, and Loki was violating it somehow.  What in hell was Schwarz on about?  And why did he assume Loki was aware of the situation?

Schwarz continued speaking before Loki could formulate a way of inquiring.  “But do not worry, dear prince.  I will help you right this vice in yourself,” he said, raising the chisel again. “I would not like for you to come away from this unimproved.”

***

Loki looked out the window.  Endless trees. 

They were taking another break.  Loki had passed out for a few minutes when the chisel splintered his thumb nail down to the root.  Schwarz seemed to find it quite amusing.

He grinned at Loki.  “All those beatings,” he said, shaking his head.  “And it is a broken nail that provokes such a reaction?  If I had known that a year ago, I would have had the Resistance’s addresses in a day.”

Schwarz chuckled and Loki wished he could rip that look off his face.  He stayed silent, though, focusing on the window. 

Schwarz looked disappointed.  “You do not deny it?” He asked.

Loki had slumped in his seat when he had lost consciousness, and did not have the energy to lift his head let alone straighten his posture.  He did not look up when he answered blurrily, “Perhaps I am learning to admit my faults.”

Schwarz laughed at that.  “Very good, very good,” he said, nodding.  “I know you say it ironically, but I believe there is a kernel of truth in there.  You understand that you were very lucky last time, do you not?  It was not some inner strength or inherent goodness that saved you and kept your secrets safely locked away.  It was not _you._ ”

Loki said nothing.  Schwarz had stood and now looked down at him, and for the first time Loki heard a sort of mild disapproval in his voice.  He found he preferred it to the constant good humor. 

“ _You,”_ Schwarz continued, his dissatisfaction evident, “Would not have lasted another day had the news not come.  You would have broken in another few hours, I would estimate.  I was already planning your execution.”

Loki still said nothing.  He glanced out the window.  The trees were thinning. 

“And then?” Loki asked, because it kept returning to before.  There must be something more to that story than Loki already knew.

“And then,” Schwarz said, smiling a hard little smile.  “Your father came to rescue you.”

Loki frowned.  His identity as a prince of Asgard had been discovered, yes, and his value as a political prisoner solidified, but he would not call that his father rescuing him.

He shifted his shoulders, and the movement made him gasp as tiny ripples of pain reverberated through his hands. 

“I would not call it a rescue,” he said through clenched teeth as he tried to control the pain.

Schwarz glared down at him.  “This is exactly what I am trying to break you of, Loki.  And I thought we were making progress.”

Loki shrugged his shoulders slightly.  “It was not a rescue,” he said, trying to sound stubborn rather than puzzled.

Schwarz’ glare intensified. “Really, Loki, this is most unbecoming.  You must give up this pride. It is not at all princely.  Your father did you a great service and you act like an ungrateful wretch.”

Loki was actually mystified. What on earth was Schwarz talking about?  The Allfather had done nothing. Not that Loki had expected him to act.  He could believe his mother would make room in her heart for him—she was sentimental in that way—and Thor had grown up with Loki, and was naïve enough to believe that was enough to link them forever. 

But the Allfather?  Loki had been nothing but a pawn to him.  Loki could imagine Odin had perhaps a feeling of disappointment that Loki had never been put to use in his plan, but he was not a fool enough to believe the Allfather felt anything more than a detached sort of regret that his pawn had grown legs and jumped off a bridge before he could be used.

Loki had counted himself lucky that when it was discovered Loki was alive and in Nazi hands, the Allfather had not immediately washed his hands of the entire affair.  Perhaps that was what Schwarz meant.

A jolt of the table on which his hands rested roused Loki from his thoughts.  Schwarz was looking down at him with an intent expression on his face. 

 “You do not know.” He said, an expression of dawning knowledge on his face. 

Loki said nothing, but his mask was in tatters.  He knew Schwarz could see the confirmation in his face.

Schwarz laughed.  “And here I was thinking you were being stubborn.  Ahh,” his voice turned condescendingly sympathetic.  It grated on Loki’s nerves. 

He glanced out the window.  The trees had thinned to almost nothing. 

“I suppose it will do you no good to be disciplined if you have no inkling of your transgression,” Schwarz continued. 

Loki said nothing.  He kept his eyes on the window, certain that the slightest clue he was interested would stop Schwarz from telling him.

“You thought he had just abandoned you, did you?” Schwarz asked.  Loki said nothing. 

“I suppose that is not such a far-flung thought.  He probably should have.  A king should not allow his sentimentality to affect his decisions.  But the Allfather has always been flawed, I suppose.”

Schwarz stood and stretched, raising the chisel above his head.  Loki took the opportunity to glance out the window again.  The forest had ended and all he could see were the rocky crags of mountain.  He was running out of time. 

Schwarz did not seem likely to hurry, nevertheless.  He chuckled.  “It is just so funny to me,” he said.  “It turns out that your last peeled layer is just a crying child, wanting his father’s love.  Just like everyone else.  How disappointing.”

The sound of the wheels on the train track changed, going higher in register, and Loki knew he did not have time left. 

He stood quickly, just able to catch Schwarz’ look of shock as he rammed his shoulder into the Captain’s solar plexus.  Schwarz stooped as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and Loki used the moment to kick the Captain onto the floor and stomp his foot onto the hand that still held the chisel.  He heard a satisfying crunch as the bones in Schwarz’ hand broke.

Ignoring the crippling pain that seemed to run the entire length of his arms, he pulled out the revolver that Schwarz had not bothered to find.  With some difficulty, he leveled it at Schwarz’ head.

“I _am_ sorry to disappoint,” he said, his voice the cold and flat one he had cultivated as an assassin.  “But I have an appointment to make.  Do please continue your thought, though.”

Schwarz laughed.  “You are ever a surprise, Loki!  It is entirely too good.”

Loki leaned harder on Schwarz’ hand, hearing the slight grind of bones against one another.  Schwarz’ grin became more of a grimace. 

“Tell me.” Loki said, no emotion in his voice at all.

Schwarz laughed again, and spoke.  “It is valuable, do you not think?  The tesseract.”

Loki frowned.  “What are you talking about?”

Schwarz laughed again and Loki leaned his weight on the hand again. 

Schwarz coughed (or was it more laughter?).  “What would you say it was worth, Loki?  _A prince’s ransom, perhaps?”_

Loki’s mind went blank for a moment. 

“You are lying,” Loki snarled.  It was not possible. 

Schwarz only laughed more.  “Did you think we just pulled your identity out of the ether?  King Odin contacted us on the fifth day of your stay.  He told the Standartenführer who you were.  We were all quite surprised. 

“But the Standartenführer could not excuse a spy for his parentage alone.  You had done too much damage.  So the Allfather paid for your release from the S.S. into a Stalag.  You could have gone free if the Allfather had been willing to part with the Infinity Gems as well.”

Loki shook his head mutely.  There was no way the Allfather would do such a thing.  The tesseract was a world-ending artifact.  He could not just give it away.  It was impossible.

Loki’s head was spinning, and it was not just the effort of holding the gun steady in his broken hands.  Loki had wanted information—that was part of the reason he allowed himself to be put into this situation—but he had had no idea this was the revelation he would receive. 

How on earth could the Allfather do such a thing?  It would be a different issue if it had been known that Loki was alive.  If the people of Asgard had known that their supposed-prince was languishing in a Nazi torture chamber, then the Allfather would be forced into action.  But no one had known.  Loki had made sure of that. 

Which meant that the Allfather had somehow found out and, without any kind of political pressure applied, had ransomed him.  How could he?  What was he planning?  And had Thor known?

_No,_ Loki thought.  _Thor cannot tell a lie to save his life.  That was my job._

Besides, Odin would not want knowledge of this getting out.  By all counts, no one had known of this but Odin.  Not Frigga, not Thor, not Hogun. 

Perhaps Schwarz was lying.  Loki could not fathom a reason for such a deceit except perhaps to confound him, but it seemed so much more likely for that to be the case than for his—for the Allfather to intervene on Loki’s behalf.

Loki’s head was aching with the idea and he raised the hand not holding the gun to his head, but remembered that any movement of the fingers caused more pain than anything else. 

Schwarz was looking up at him with an amused look in his eye. He laughed.  “Loki Odinson.  Still such a child.  You want his love and yet you reject any demonstration of it.  See?  Such a spoiled child.”

Loki felt his finger tighten painfully on the trigger of the revolver. 

“Are you going to return the tesseract to Odin, Loki?” Schwarz continued.  “Try and earn his love that way?  Will you believe it then?”

Schwarz laughed.  “You are such a liar, Loki.  Do you even notice when you lie to yourself?”

Loki rolled his eyes.  “Enough,” he said, re-aiming the gun at Schwarz’ chest.  “I do not have time for your pontificating.”

He pulled the trigger and Schwarz called out in pain.  Loki inspected his work.  It looked bad, but he knew he had missed all major organs.  Schwarz would live, which was unfortunate, but necessary.

The Captain gasped in pain and Loki allowed himself to take a moment of pleasure in that.  He reached down and plucked the chisel out of Schwarz’s broken hand, stowing it in his pocket. 

“Souvenir,” he said to the squirming Schwarz.  “Adieu, Captain.”

He kicked Schwarz out of the way and opened the door to the compartment, stepping out into the corridor. He closed the door behind him, smiling in what he hoped was a pleasant way at the conductor who gave him and his broken hands a wide berth. 

Loki carefully tucked them into his trouser pockets and made his way toward the caboose. He pushed the thoughts of his father and his possible hand in the tesseract’s theft out of his mind.  Loki had a plan to execute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	43. Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck ignores geography for her own evil motives and the plan is put into motion.

Natasha glanced out the window.  The trees were thinning.  It was almost time. 

The forest ended just over the border from Germany to Switzerland, at the edge of a vast lake, over which the train would travel via suspension bridge.   When that happened, everything had to be in place. 

Natasha tapped her fingernails against the wood of her seat as she looked around the carriage, running over everything once again in her mind.

Loki was still in the compartment, as he was supposed to be.  It was part of the plan, and, as such, shouldn’t bother her, but she couldn’t help an uneasy feeling that had welled up in the pit of her stomach when Thor had reentered the carriage alone. 

She pushed it aside.  Objectivity was her friend in this.  Besides, Loki could take care of himself.  She just had to make sure that the path was clear for him to do his work.

Natasha shifted her shoulders and Clint looked up. 

“Time?” he said.

Natasha nodded and stood.  Clint got up as well, shaking Peter to rouse him from where he’d been staring out the window in a daze. 

Natasha quickly evaluated the boy.  He was doing well.  A little pale, a little distracted, but he was steady.  She nodded to him in what she hoped was a reassuring way.  Clint was really much better at such things. 

Right now she hadn’t even the time to properly try.  This was her work, and she had better get down to it.

When they had planned this, they had known it was likely they would face searchers.  It was almost inevitable:  they were behind enemy lines with a highly dangerous artifact.  They’d been astronomically lucky so far, but it was idiotic to believe such luck would last. The Nazis _would_ board the train and they _would_ be recognized one way or another.

Loki’s plan put him in the riskiest position, in the compartment with whoever was leading the searchers.  It was his job to distract the leader while Natasha and Clint dealt with whoever remained.  This was essential, Natasha reminded herself.  The leader had to be able to exert some control, but they couldn’t have any heavies meddling.

Natasha had expected to have to engineer the distraction in some way—perhaps lure the leader to Loki for him to engage in some kind of dialogue—but they hadn’t needed to do so after all.  The leader had gone into the compartment immediately and stayed put.  This also grated on Natasha, but she pushed it aside.  Loki could handle himself.

Natasha motioned for Clint to follow her to First Class while Peter turned to go to the back of the carriage.  The boy had other tasks while Natasha and Clint attended to theirs.

Natasha took point, pushing open the door to the First Class carriage and peeking through.  Two soldiers in the corridor, probably half a dozen more scattered throughout the train. 

Knowing that they would definitely have to deal with searchers on the train had allowed Natasha and Loki to strategize.  They could not rid the entire train of soldiers.  It was an impossible task that would eat up time and manpower. So they would do the next best thing:  Isolate and contain.

Natasha smiled her friendliest fake smile as she slipped through the door to the corridor walking towards the door to the rest of the train.

As she passed by, Natasha assessed the soldiers.  They were the same ones who had inspected their identity cards earlier.  An old man and a boy—odd looking in their ill-fitting uniforms.  Natasha almost felt sorry for them. 

“Ist dies das Badezimmer?“* she asked the older soldier shyly as she rested her hand on the door handle to the next carriage.

“Das ist die Tür zum nächsten Waggon,“* the younger man said, blushing slightly. 

Natasha smiled brighter and flicked the deadbolt closed. 

The young man frowned and got out a “Es ist nicht erlaubt—“* before falling in a heap to the floor. 

The older soldier spun to see Clint standing with a makeshift club—piece of piping—in his raised hand. He fumbled with the revolver on his hip but didn’t manage to draw before Natasha knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head.  Clint caught him on his way down, though whether it was in deference to his age or just to muffle the sound, Natasha didn’t know.

Still working quietly, Natasha and Clint maneuvered the soldiers into an empty compartment and tied them securely with their own belts.  Just to be on the safe side, they also wedged a piece of broken paneling under the door to keep it from opening. 

That managed, Natasha motioned for Clint to return to Peter.  They would have to get thing prepared for Loki while she kept everything behind the locked door to the rest of the train from impinging on their privacy. 

Clint gave her a little peck on the cheek. 

“See you in a few, cupcake,” he said with a grin.  She glared at him in answer, but felt a tiny tug at the corner of her mouth. 

“Get to work,” she answered, trying for stern and getting closer to grudgingly amused. 

Clint turned with a wave over his shoulder and returned to the other carriage.

Alone, Natasha began running down a checklist in her mind.  She double checked the lock on the door, and wedged a piece of paneling under that door as well for good measure.  She inspected the rest of the compartments for any other passengers—empty: not many wealthy travelers were taking the midnight train to Switzerland it seemed.  She checked the pulses of the two captured soldiers—steady—and made gags out of their socks just in case.  She checked the windows for their timeline—there were still trees, but they only passed by every two or three seconds rather than almost constantly. 

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek.  It was an acquired nervous habit, one that she had carefully observed and cultivated in herself.  She had decided that nervous habits were something that regular people had and affected one in an effort to put others at their ease.  Just another tiny way to signal others that she was one of them.  But after a while she had found it strangely addictive and bit her cheek even when she was alone.  Like right now.   

Natasha knew she was trying to distract herself.  She wanted to know what was going on inside Loki’s compartment and that was not a good idea. 

She was there to guard the door.  She was Loki’s back up should he become surrounded.  She was the line between the rest of the train and him. 

The line would be of no use if it was right next to him and distracted by whatever he was saying to the Nazi leader.

They had discussed what he might say at length.  Natasha had suggested feigning a deal.  Perhaps a defection and protection for the tesseract.  Loki had thought desertion might be difficult to fake and had proposed a more reluctant approach, perhaps subtly suggesting blackmail to the leader. 

Natasha shook her head.  Needlessly complicated as always. 

Natasha made up her mind.  Ten seconds.  She would listen for ten seconds, just to ascertain that everything was alright, and she would return to her post.

She silently approached the door and angled her head closer to the paneled wood to listen. 

It was considerably more than ten seconds before she pulled her head away and glared at the shut door.

Natasha consciously took a step back from the door, attempting to achieve an equal distance with her thoughts.  She pushed the knowledge that Loki was only a few feet away, being hurt—barely conscious by the sound of it—and focused on tallying up what she knew. 

By the sounds of the conversation, Natasha would say that Loki and this officer—Schwarz—knew each other.  And by the sounds that were _not_ conversation, Natasha could guess at the nature of their meeting. 

_Dammit Loki,_ Natasha thought, with no small amount of heat _I thought you were over trying to kill yourself._ Even as she thought it she knew she was wrong.  This was not suicidal.  Not primarily at least.  This was gambling.

Natasha knew the potential opportunities torture afforded.  It was a high-risk, high-profit game that she had played and won in the past. 

That had been different, though.  Tied to a chair and slapped around was not the same as the kind of torment Loki had to be suffering. 

Nevertheless, Natasha could not intervene without making the entire ordeal worthless.  If she crashed in now, she might overturn the entire thing and all of Loki’s pain would be for nothing. 

Loki knew how to play a person.  If she knew Loki like she thought she did, he was playing the long con, biding his time as he lulled Schwarz into thinking him weak before finally asking the big questions. 

Natasha only hoped it was worth the risk. 

She walked to the next compartment to glance out the window.  The trees were almost gone.  If Loki didn’t hurry, she would have to interrupt, damn Loki’s plans. 

The sound of a door opening in the corridor made Natasha twitch.  She _must_ be jumpy.

Natasha closed the door to her compartment silently, listening as footsteps approached. 

She’d locked the door to the rest of the train, but had neglected to lock the one leading to the open carriage and caboose.  Someone had decided to join the rest of the train, it seemed.  Well, they were soon to be sorely disappointed.  And likely suffering from a massive headache.

Natasha waited as the footsteps crossed in front of her door.  She heard whoever it was try the door and curse in German.  Reassured that it wasn’t just Clint checking on her, she clenched the handle of the compartment door, ready to swing it open and attack whoever it was, when she heard a gunshot in Loki’s compartment.

She froze, instinctively stilling any movement that would attract attention, never mind that the shooter couldn’t possibly know she was there. After a second and no further shots, she darted to the wall between her compartment and Loki’s pressing her ear to the paneling.  She sighed in relief when she heard Loki’s low voice through the wood.  He wasn’t dead. 

She was going to kill him.

Before she did, though, she had to deal with the person in the corridor.  She stepped over to the door again, but before she could turn the handle, Loki’s door opened.

***

Loki was almost to the door out of first class when he heard the telltale thump of a body hitting the floor.  He was not surprised when he turned to see Natasha had knocked the train conductor unconscious. 

“You’re late,” Natasha said sharply as she tied the conductor’s hands behind his back in quick, sure motions. 

Loki knew he was not.  He had perhaps a minute or two before he had to be in position.  He eyed her critically as she dragged the conductor into another compartment.

“You are angry with me,” he said.  It was almost a question.  He would be surprised if she had not listened to his conversation with Schwarz. 

Natasha said nothing, holding out her hands expectantly.  It took Loki a moment to realize she wanted him to place his hands in hers.  She wanted to access the damage. 

He carefully drew his hands from his pockets, hissing as the rough wool caught on the uneven skin and pulled at nearly-clotted blood. 

Natasha examined them calmly, careful not to move them too much. 

“Limited mobility,” she said at last.  “You are lucky you could pull the trigger.”

Loki nodded wearily.  He had not realized how much he needed her to be professional about this.  His own objectivity was in ruins. 

“I hope it was worth it, зайчик,” Natasha said, releasing her gentle hold of his hands.

Loki pursed his lips and nodded, but said nothing more.  It was too soon to share.  He had not even figured out his own feelings on the conversation.  He was in no shape to convey them.

Natasha was looking at him in that way she had, where he felt like all his masks were as transparent as glass.  He wondered what she saw.  He certainly could not pin it down.

After a moment, she nodded her head.  “We are going to speak of this later,” she said, her voice betraying an anger that Loki should have expected. 

Loki was so used to Natasha being the strong, professional person by his side, ruthless and emotionless, that sometimes he forgot that she was so much more than that.  Sometimes he forgot that she had rescued strays like Loki and loved idiots like Clint.

And he had made her listen, helpless, as one of the few people she had learned to care about was put in terrible pain.  It was a terrible disrespect, and one he should have considered. 

Loki felt the guilt spread across his face.  “I am sorry, Natasha,” he said after a moment.

Natasha looked at him sharply, but after a moment softened.  “I know,” she said.  “But we will still speak on it.”  She gestured for him to step through the door to the back of the train. 

Loki nodded and slid his hands back into his pockets.  He would not want anyone to be distracted by them.  He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The open carriage was almost empty.  Only the civilians remained, most asleep in their seats as the train trundled on.  That was good, then.  Everyone else should be in the caboose waiting for them. Loki walked slowly to the door to the last car in the train, Natasha following closely behind him. 

She reached around him to rest her hand on the doorknob so he would not have to use his broken hands.  He shot her a grateful look and she nodded.  He was not forgiven, but they were still partners.

“Are you ready?” Natasha asked. 

Loki took a deep breath and nodded.  “It is time,” he said as he stepped through the door.

***

The caboose was a drafty car, not intended for passengers.  The front wall, with the exception of the door, was taken up by various switches and dials that Loki assumed had something to do with the running of the train.  There was a low bench to one side, where the various engineers or conductors could sit when they were not preforming their duties throughout the rest of the train. 

Right now, the bench was occupied with Hogun, Thor, Sif, and Coulson.  Volstagg and Fandral stood in the corner beside Hogun, while Rogers, Stark, and Rhodes occupied the corner across from them, with the door to the open balcony on the back of the caboose separating them.  Clint and Peter were closest, their backs to the wall of equipment and their bodies angled enough to see the door as well as out the window behind Sif’s head.

Loki surveyed the crowded space silently as Natasha closed the door behind them. 

Coulson spoke first, standing as Loki entered the caboose.  He did not seem at all put-out that he had spent the last fifteen or so minutes in a chilly train car sitting on a hard bench.

“You’ve made your decision regarding where the tesseract will go?” He asked.  Loki nodded, glancing at Peter.  The boy nodded back, and handed over the knapsack to Loki.  Loki took the knapsack carefully, hoping that the lack of bright lamps in the car disguised his broken hands.  When no one reacted, he pulled opened the flap so all could see the telltale blue glow of the tesseract on his face. 

Loki closed the knapsack again and responded. “Yes.  I thought it best to gather everyone together, so there is no mistaking the meaning.  We do not want to seem duplicitous in such a serious decision.”

Loki continued to evaluate the environment as he spoke.  By the sound of the train wheels on the track, they were on the bridge already, but they had to be in the center for the plan to work at all in the long-term. 

The crowdedness of the car was also a tricky situation, Loki reflected.  They would have to stage this perfectly, with exactly the right amount of chaos and order. 

Loki glanced at Clint, who was already moving towards the door to the open carriage.  He gave Natasha and Loki a nod before leaving them in the caboose.  Peter also, moved, going to stand by the other door—the one leading to the balcony at the back of the train.  Loki and Natasha stepped into their vacated space. 

“The tesseract,” Loki said after a moment, “is a powerful artifact.  Too powerful, I think, for it to be trusted to just anyone.”

Loki leaned back and glanced from face to face.  Each of the listeners had an almost identical look of expectation on his or her face.  They were his audience, and he had to perform.

“Asgard,” Loki said, tipping his head at Hogun, “has had the tesseract for a thousand years, and done nothing more productive than throwing it in a cellar to rot away.  And when it should be most protected, when it could do the most damage, it was taken, and given to those who would use it to nefarious purpose.

“Britain, would do the same, leave it in some dark damp place to be forgotten, even as their island is bombed into ruin.

“The United States would use the tesseract, though whether it be for the same purpose as Germany, no one can ever be completely sure.”

Loki glanced around as his audience processed that.  There was no good answer for the tesseract.  No winning play, it seemed.

“And yet, I cannot leave it in Peter’s knapsack forever, either,” he said, with a tiny smile.  “So what are we to do?”

The door opened behind him, and Clint strode through.  He nodded to Loki. 

“Ah,” Loki said.  “It seems our last guest is about to arrive.”

An alarm sounded and Loki felt the undeniable sensation of the train slowing down. 

“Damn.”

***

Schwarz smirked as he released his hold on the emergency break wire. 

 Loki could lie, shoot, and break his hand, but Schwarz would have the tesseract, and if in any way possible, the Odinson’s head.

He pulled out his service revolver and opened the door to the caboose.  Ah, the gang was all there.

He glanced around the car, taking note of Loki with a knapsack standing very near the door to the balcony off the back of the caboose. 

“Hello, good people,” he said, smiling his most charming smile.  “Your comrade has something that belongs to the German people.  If any of you are willing to help me reacquire it, I am sure I would be able to overlook any other crimes you might be committing.”

He paused and glanced significantly at the men in the corner, “Such as prison escape, or” he turned his glance to the Asgardians, “treason.”

After a moment of silence he nodded.  “I thought you might need some kind of motivation.  So I brought it.”

Schwarz motioned and his men stepped in through the door behind him.  Schwarz was not stupid.  He knew better than to go into what could potentially be a trap without backup.  So the first thing he’d done after levering himself off the ground and tying a makeshift bandage around his chest was to break down the door to the rest of the train and bring gather his men to come with him.  He had six soldiers ready to enforce his orders.  Odinson didn’t stand a chance.

It was the other Odinson, the _real_ Odinson, who moved first.  He stood slowly, his very presence seeming to expand to fill the room. 

“I care not how many stooges accompany you.  You will not lay another hand on my brother.”

Schwarz grinned a hard little grin.  “A little late for that,” he said.

Schwarz just barely sidestepped the mountain of a man as he lunged for his head. 

Confident that his “stooges” would occupy Thor, he dodged through the rest of the crowd as they squared off against his men.  It seemed that not one of them were inclined to take his advice.  A pity.

Schwarz elbowed through the fray, managing to make his way to the back of the car, only to find Loki no longer there.  He turned and looked back into the fray, where his men were forced to use hand-to-hand combat rather than their rifles by the close proximity as they fended off the others.  Loki was not there, either.

He turned again to the door and noticed a movement outside.  It seemed the Odinson had decided to flee with the tesseract across the bridge.  Schwarz grinned.  This was one bridge Loki would not survive.

***

Loki panted as he ran across the struts of the suspension bridge.  It was difficult to see each new plank in with only the moonlight as illumination, but the fear of catching his foot in one of the six-inch gaps between struts was enough to keep him vigilant. 

His hands throbbed with each beat of his heart, but he refused to think of it, instead focusing on the ring of his footsteps as he ran. 

Loki was so focused, he almost did not hear the first gunshot as it reverberated across the lake.  It was the shout that stopped him in his tracks. 

“Stop, or the next shot will be in your heart!”

Loki froze, one foot on the strut in front of him, the other on the strut behind.

He heard the faint sound of chuckling behind him and for a second he wished he had shot Schwarz dead when he had the chance.

“Turn around,” Schwarz said in almost a singsong. 

Loki kept his feet where they were, but swiveled the rest of his body so he could see Schwarz behind him.  The Captain was backlit by the train’s rear lamp, but Loki could see the gun in his left (uninjured) hand.

“Give me the tesseract, Loki,” he said, in a patient voice that reminded Loki of his most condescending tutors. 

“I do not think that wise,” Loki said calmly.

Schwarz chuckled.  “I did not ask for your opinion. Give it to me, or you shall truly know what it is to meet your death at the bottom of a bridge.”

Loki finally turned, moving his feet so he was balanced on the strut closest to Schwarz. The Captain was only six feet away, the gun stretched out before him. 

“I believe I have met enough ends at the hands of bridges, thank you,” he said, still calm. 

The Captain tipped his head back and laughed, and Loki took his chance, taking two quick steps forward and kicking the revolver out of Schwarz’ hand and off the bridge.

Schwarz was taken by surprise and took a sudden step back, losing his balance as his heel missed the strut.  He fell backwards, landing hard on rough wood of the bridge.

Loki followed up his kick with another, this one to Schwarz’ ribs, knocking the breath out of him. 

Loki tried to skirt the man, heading back to the train, but the bridge was too narrow—Schwarz wrapped his arms around Loki’s ankles and Loki went down like a bag of bricks, falling across the tracks and very nearly off the bridge.  He winced as his shoulder hit the steal of the tracks hard enough to jar the knapsack from his hand. 

Both men held their breaths as the knapsack fell from Loki’s grasp, only breathing again when a shoulder strap caught on a jutting bolt and stayed, dangling a few feet below the train tracks. 

Schwarz moved first, slithering on his belly to the edge, hooking his left arm around the train track as he reached with his right for the tesseract. 

Loki stood, stomping hard on Schwarz’ shoulder—the one with the bullet wound—in an effort to loosen his grasp.  Schwarz screamed in pain as Loki’s boot connected with his injured shoulder. 

Schwarz grabbed the knapsack with his right hand, just barely able to contain the tremors of his broken fingers.

 “I will drop it,” Schwarz said as he held the tesseract over the lake.  “Let me up, or I swear I will drop it.  How will you earn daddy’s love then?”

Loki grinned, his expression fierce and angry and pleased.  “How will do you suppose you will explain that to your superiors?  You had the tesseract in your hand and you just let it go?”

Schwarz had a moment to look shocked confused before Loki stamped hard on his shoulder and his grip slackened with pain, the knapsack tumbling from his grip and into the water of the lake beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Is this the bathroom?  
> *That is the door to the next car.  
> *That is not allowed-- 
> 
> To be continued.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	44. After the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's plan reaches completion as the train travels towards Basel.

Loki and Schwarz watched, transfixed, as the knapsack fell away into darkness.  Loki was sure it was impossible, but he imagined he could hear a splash as the heavy bag hit the water of the lake hundreds of feet below them. 

Loki did not smile, but he could not help feeling a certain lightening of his load, now that the responsibility of the tesseract was no longer resting solely on his shoulders. 

Schwarz’ face held no such relief:  his expression was quickly morphing from a blank look of shock into one of perilous rage. 

“What have you done?” he shouted, grabbing hold of Loki’s ankle and tugging fast enough for Loki to lose his balance and come crashing to the ground as Schwarz stood to loom above him.  “You—you—“

Schwarz was nearly apoplectic with anger.  It seemed to make him even stronger than before.  He brought his boot down hard on Loki’s chest—enough to knock the wind out of him and, by the pain—crack a few of Loki’s ribs. 

“You—That cube is unlimited power!  You could have had _anything_ , you could have made yourself into the most powerful man on the earth.  Greater than your father, greater than your brother, greater than any other. And you threw it away!”

Loki could not answer; he could barely breathe as he watched Schwarz above him. Schwarz shook his head.  He seemed to be calming down. 

“And it is only a delaying tactic.  We will find it eventually, even if we have to dredge this lake, even if we have to wade through the muck for twenty years, we will find it.  You have accomplished nothing.”

Loki’s vision was beginning to go dark at the edges.  Schwarz pressed down cruelly on Loki’s chest, squeezing more air out of Loki’s lungs. 

Schwarz made a show of looking out over the edge of the bridge, down at the waters.  “I suppose sending you to join her would be fair, do you not think?  You and the cube you failed to protect, waiting to be rediscovered again.”

“I think not,” said a cold voice somewhere beyond Schwarz.  Even in his dazed state, Loki could recognize it immediately. 

Schwarz turned slightly, and though his foot remained on Loki’s chest, the pressure abated slightly.  As Loki’s vision returned to normal, he could see the familiar silhouette of Sif, her blade held in an easy grip and the tip resting on Schwarz’ collarbone. 

Loki felt his mouth stretch into a sort of dazed smile.  She was very beautiful, standing there, a halo of artificial light around her head and a bloody blade in her hand.

Schwarz sneered at her.  “You want him?  He is a fool.”  Schwarz ground his foot into Loki’s chest, making him gasp for air.  “Pretty girl like you, you deserve better.”

“You deserve to be pinned to the end of my sword,” Sif hissed.  “Shall we agree to eschew just deserts and do as we will?”

Schwarz gave Sif a long look, perhaps, Loki thought, weighing her dedication to her word.  After a moment he nodded, raising his hands and removing his boot from Loki’s chest.  But even as Sif lowered her sword, Schwarz lashed out, catching her in the solar plexus with the heel of his hand. 

Sif doubled over and Schwarz tried to knock the sword from her hand.  Sif had the grip of a vise, though, Loki knew, and Schwarz’ effort only made her angrier.  She kicked out with her left foot, catching him in the knee and sending him reeling backward, tripping over Loki still sprawled on the tracks.  Schwarz landed heavily on his back, Sif following right behind, a glint in her eye that said Schwarz would get no second chance. 

“Wait,” Loki said, sitting up with some difficulty.  His voice came out half-croak, half-whisper, but it halted Sif nevertheless.  She raised an eyebrow in question. 

“I need him alive.”

If Loki did not know better, he would have sworn the look that flitted across Sif’s face was disappointment. 

She nodded, though, and before Schwarz could fathom the change, she had switched the grip on her weapon and brought the blunt pummel down on his head, knocking him unconscious.

Loki watched as Sif carefully knelt beside the man, feeling his neck for a pulse.  She sighed. 

“Dead?” Loki asked, apprehensive.  That would be an unfortunate twist, especially considering the great lengths he had taken to get Schwarz exactly where he wanted him.

“Worse.  He is alive,” Sif said with a wry little grin.

Loki found himself smiling back, a strange little bubble of elation in his stomach.  He had really done it.  And what was more, he had made it through alive. 

Loki turned his body so his legs were dangling over the side of the bridge, his feet swinging above the water far below.  After a second’s hesitation, Sif moved until she was seated beside him.  She reached out and took his unharmed wrist in her hand.

Sif’s grin had softened into a smile, but Loki could see the confusion lurking in the corners. 

“Why do you want him alive?” she asked quietly.  Loki could hear the unasked question between the words and he shook his head slowly—any faster and Schwarz would not be the only unconscious man Sif would be hauling back to the train.

“He had to see it happen.  He has to report it back.  They cannot be allowed to follow us, thinking we played a trick on them.”

Sif’s eyes narrowed.  “ _Did_ you play a trick on them?  Was that a bag of sand you threw off the bridge to live with the fishes?”

Loki smirked at her.  “Would I do such a thing?” he asked, false innocence thick enough to slice.

“In a blink,” Sif answered, leaning in to give him peck a on the nose.  Loki’s eyes slipped closed and he leaned into her shoulder.  She felt very warm and safe and all he wanted to do was lean against her and sleep until the next decade had turned. 

Sif seemed to sense his sudden weariness. 

“We should return to the train,” she said, knocking her shoulder gently against his.  Loki hissed sharply as his hands were jostled.

Sif frowned, pulling his hands up so she could see them in the light.  “Did _he_ do this?” she asked, her voice tight with anger. 

Loki could not truly blame her.  It was the first time he had looked at them properly since he had left the train compartment and they were frankly grotesque. 

“You cannot kill him,” he said in answer to her.  “And it was my own fault.”

Sif still looked murderous, but her hands were gentle when she released his wrists and stood. 

“I suppose that means that _I_ will be lugging our prisoner back to the train,” she said, and though the words were in jest, her tone was still severe.

Loki shot her a grin and began the difficult task of levering himself to his feet without further injuring his hands.

After a few seconds of unbalanced struggling, Sif took his forearm and helped him to his feet. 

“I would never forgive myself if I let you go tumbling into the drink after all of this mess,” she muttered before stooping to lift Schwarz and sling him over her shoulder. 

Loki only nodded automatically and followed her back to the train.

Loki had assumed that if Sif was able to come to his aid, then the fight on the train was more or less over.  It seemed he had assumed correctly.  Several soldiers were tied to a pipe in the corner of the caboose, and the rest of the escapees and Asgardians were tending each other’s wounds. 

Peter was the first to spot Loki and Sif.   “Is it done?” He asked.

Loki nodded wearily.  Peter grinned in triumph, but seemed to notice Loki’s hands for the first time.  His eyes got wide and round.  “Are you alright?”

“I am sound, Peter,” Loki said.  And it was true.  He was well.  The most difficult parts were over and he was alive. 

Peter seemed to disagree with his definition of ‘sound.’ From the sound of Sif snorting behind him, she agreed.  Peter’s brow furrowed when he saw the state of Loki’s hands. 

“What happened?” he hissed in a rather too-loud whisper.  “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

Loki shook his head.  “There are unexpected outcomes to every plan,” he said.  Peter did not look appeased, so he relented.  “I will explain later.  Right now we have loose ends to tie.”

Peter nodded reluctantly, taking Loki’s elbow and steering him towards Captain Rogers.  Loki raised his eyebrows in question. 

Rogers shrugged sheepishly.  “I’m acting as nurse, it seems,” he said.  “I had some field medicine training.   I can patch you up until we get to Basel.”

“Ah,” Loki said, “Then I am not next in line for triage, I fear.”  He used his chin to point to Schwarz, still slung over Sif’s shoulder.  “This man has been shot.”

Rogers looked confused.  “I didn’t think the Germans got a shot out.”

“No,” Loki agreed.  “But I did.”

Rogers seemed to notice Schwarz’ uniform for the first time and he nodded.  “Alright, then,” he said. 

Sif lowered Schwarz none too gently to the bench beside Rogers.  She remained by the Captains’ sides, but Loki could feel her eyes follow him.

Peter looked ready to protect that Loki’s broken hands outweighed a gunshot wound, so Loki distracted him by pulling him aside.

“Status?”

Peter seemed to come to attention.  “Clint and Natasha are clearing the rest of the train since we’ve stopped."

Loki nodded.  It was a good plan.  It had not been reasonable to search and neutralize any soldiers in the train when they were moving and had only a limited time, but since they would likely need to take control of the train to ensure it kept its course for Switzerland, it was the only feasible choice.

“Tony and Rhodes went with them.  If the engineers refuse to cooperate they think that between the two of them they can get the train rolling again.”

“Good,” Loki said.  He allowed a note of pride to enter his voice.  “You did exceedingly well for your first mission, Peter.”

Peter gave him a weak smile.  “Thanks, Loki.  But I’m not altogether sure I’m cut out for this spy stuff.”

Loki carefully slung his arm over Peter’s shoulder.   “I will attempt to dissuade you if you wish to leave the business,” he said, making sure to smile at the boy so he knew it was not a comment on his performance during the mission.  Espionage was not a steady profession, nor a safe one.  Peter deserved better, Loki thought. 

Peter’s glance went to Loki’s hands.  “Yeah.  What happened, boss?”

 Loki followed his gaze.  “I took a very dangerous risk that, should you choose to remain a spy, you should never, ever take.”

Peter smiled wryly.  “How do all of your explanations seem to begin like that?”

“I have a gift for consistency,” Loki said, straight-faced.

Peter giggled.  “Sure, boss.  Whatever you say.”  Peter was still giggling when the door from the carriage was pushed open. 

Loki’s hand, like Coulson’s, Hogun’s, and Sif’s, immediately went to his belt for his lost gun.  He only had enough time to feel foolish for not procuring a replacement before the familiar shaggy head of his brother appeared in the open doorway. 

Thor held up his hands—Sif, Hogun, and Coulson had not come up empty and were pointing their weapons at Thor’s heart—as he stepped through the door. 

“Tony says we will be moving again imminently,” he announced to the caboose. 

Loki sighed in relief.  The sooner they got the train moving again, the sooner he could finish this and—he did not know.  He had been studiously ignoring thoughts of _after_ in the interests of _now._

Thor caught sight of Loki and Peter in their corner, and made his way through the others towards them.  His face darkened the closer he got and the more of Loki he could see. 

“Brother,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.  “What happened?”

Loki refused to let his eyes flit to where Schwarz lay, being tended by the Captain. 

“I lost a wager,” he said flippantly.  “This is my payment.”

Thor’s face darkened further.  “You said you would call me,” he said, still quiet and no less angry.

 Loki sighed.  “I did. I lied.”

Thor’s face seemed to morph into an expression two parts hurt and one part confusion. 

Loki sighed again.  “Thor.  Brother.  I needed this to happen. I knew Schwarz knew something, and I did not know what.  Interrogation was the best way of getting him to open up about it and I know he would not do that if you were in the room.  So I lied.”

Thor still looked hurt, but Peter spoke before he could comment.  “Did you get what you were looking for?”  He asked.

Loki hesitated for a moment before responding.  “He told me how the tesseract came to be in Nazi hands.  So I suppose so.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose in surprise and curiosity.  “How?” he asked, leaning forward in naked eagerness.

Thor’s reaction, however, was the one that held more interest for Loki.  Instead of surprise, he seemed guarded, almost guilty.  His eyes wrested firmly on his own boots, refusing to rise for anything.  Loki kept his gaze on his brother as he answered Peter.

“He said that it was Odin himself who gave the tesseract.  In exchange for my release to the stalags.”

Peter looked shocked.  “Wow,” he said quietly. 

Loki watched Thor.  He was still wearing that almost shame-faced expression. 

“You knew.” Loki said.  It was not quite an accusation. 

Thor did not even try to deny it.  He nodded, grave.  “I had my suspicions.  When you said it was someone in the palace.  I did not want to tell you lest I was wrong and you would be angry at my believing the best of father.  So I said nothing.  And you—“ Thor gestured at Loki’s hands. 

Loki thought about that.  It was not fair for Thor to blame himself, as he so clearly was doing.  Loki had put himself in that situation, and even if Thor _had_ spoken, Loki would not have believed him.  He still would have put himself through that ordeal, and probably been upset with his brother. 

Loki nudged his brother with his elbow, in what he hoped was a companionable way. 

“I am fine, brother.  Do not worry yourself.”

Thor nodded his big, shaggy head and wrapped Loki in a huge, and somewhat painful, hug. 

Peter was good enough to clear his throat loudly, causing Thor to release Loki before his lungs collapsed.

As soon as Loki got his wind back, Coulson and Hogun seemed to come out of the woodwork, approaching Thor, Loki, and Peter almost in unison. 

Hogun spoke first. “You no longer have the tesseract,” he said.  It was one of those not-questions he often employed when he wanted answers from Loki. 

Loki shook his head.  “No, I do not.”

Coulson leaned against the wall.  “I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to say that you’d left it out on the bridge and could go fetch it at any time.”

Loki smiled weakly.  “Schwarz and I fought.  The tesseract fell into the lake.”

Hogun’s expression barely changed; his only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. 

Coulson response was a little more expressive.  “Damn.”  He pushed away from the wall and began pacing in what little space he had in the middle of the caboose. 

“I suppose it’s better than it being solely in Nazi hands,” he said, nodding to himself.  “It’ll take them at least a year to search the bottom with divers.  We’ve got time to come up with counter strategies.”

“I should think it would take considerably longer than that,” Loki said casually.  “I understand diving is very dangerous in this lake.”

Coulson stopped pacing to stare at Loki.  “Then they’ll dredge it.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed.  “But that will take much, much more time.  This lake is nearly 40 square miles.  That will take a considerable amount of time and manpower.”

Coulson nodded slowly. “I’ll need to get in contact with my superiors.”  He paused for a moment, his gaze knowing.  “Good job, Loki.”

Hogun watched as Coulson walked to the next car, presumably to compose a letter to his bosses in America.  He turned to Loki. 

“Is it truly in the lake?” he asked. 

Loki raised an eyebrow at the direct question.  It was not like Hogun to be so obvious.

Hogun shrugged slightly—it was as emotive as he got—and said, “It is too important, Loki.  If you have tricked us and—“

“I have not,” Loki interrupted.  “It is at the bottom of the lake.”

Hogun gazed calmly at Loki for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, he nodded.  “That is well enough, then, I suppose.  The Allfather will be pleased to know it is no longer in enemy hands.”

He began to walk away but turned slightly on the third step. “I would hate for it to resurface too soon,” he mentioned.  “It is too dangerous in a time of war, I think.  Better when there is peace.”

And with those words Hogun left.

Peter looked quizzically at Hogun’s back.  “Does he know something?” He asked Loki. 

Loki shrugged.  “With Hogun, I find it is always best to assume he does.  Otherwise he will prove otherwise.”

Thor looked like he wished to ask what they meant, but seemed to think better of it.  Instead, he laid a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder and steered him towards Steve. 

“Come, brother.  Let us get your bones set.”

***

Tony squinted at the dial and tightened the gauge. 

Rhodey scowled at him.  “You’re going to blow the boiler if you ratchet up the pressure any more,” he said, disapprovingly. 

“The old girl can take it,” Tony said blithely, patting the train’s outer wall fondly.  Tony did not often get the chance to ride trains, but he’d always liked them, ever since he was a kid.

“You know the red numbers mean it’s too high, don’t you?”

“Those are just guidelines,” Tony said, waving a hand.  “They’re there so the conductors don’t go on joyrides.  Trust me, Rhodey.”

Rhodey threw up his hands in despair.  “You’ll kill us all, Tony, I swear you will.”

Tony was just about to defend his staunch level-headedness and general common sense when there was a knock on the door to the cab.

Rhodey and Tony exchanged a look, suddenly serious.  Rhodey brought up the rifle he’d taken off one of the soldiers and leveling it at the door.  He nodded to Tony, who nodded back, opening the door quickly from a safe place behind the doorframe. 

Rhodye didn’t fire, though, and Tony peeked out to see Loki and Peter with identical smug smirks on their faces. 

“Tense, are we?” Loki asked, eyebrow raised. 

Rhodey lowered the rifle.  “Last time we checked there were still Nazis on the train.  Excuse us for not wanting them near the highly volatile engine.”  He shot Tony a look.  “I’ve already got one too many maniacs in here.”

Loki smiled.  “Perhaps I can relieve you of that burden, Lieutenant,” he said.  “I would like a private word with Sergeant Stark, if I may.”

Rhodey looked relieved, the bastard.  Tony would have given a piece of his mind, except he was kind of really curious about what Loki wanted to talk to him about.  After all, Tony had done his part of Loki’s plan, hadn’t he?  And now he was helping them escape.  What could Loki possibly want to talk to him about? 

So instead of arguing, Tony just nodded, which made Rhodey look even more relieved, the complete bastard.

“I’ll stay here and help Rhodey,” Peter said, slipping into the cab.

Loki nodded.  “Natasha says the train is clear, but let’s not take any chances, shall we?”

Tony shrugged.  Rhodey was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  But if Pete wanted to see the how the train worked, then he couldn’t blame the kid.  It was fascinating.

“Don’t change any of my settings,” Tony called over his shoulder as he followed Loki.  “And don’t think I won’t notice if you do.”

Tony could practically hear Rhodey’s eyes rolling behind him.

Loki stopped at the first car.  It was a small passenger car, entirely empty of people.  Loki kicked the door open with his foot.  That was when Tony noticed his hands. 

“What happened?” he asked, nodding towards Loki’s bandages. 

Loki looked down as if he’d forgotten they were there.  “Oh, I was injured slightly.  Nothing to worry about.”

Tony’s curiosity was piqued, but he could tell that no amount of asking would get him answers.  Loki would just clam up more.  So instead, he decided to focus on the other questions he had.

“I take it by your presence here that the tesseract is safe and that Nazi is dead?”

“Wrong on both counts, I am afraid,” Loki answered.  “The tesseract is at the bottom of the lake, and while Captain Schwarz does have an impressive hole in his shoulder, he will live.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up.  “I think you should explain that first part in more detail, don’t you?”

Loki sighed.  Tony noticed for the first time that he looked incredibly tired.  It made sense.  They’d all had a long night.  Tony was exhausted, and all he’d had to worry about was not being discovered and shot as a spy.  He couldn’t imagine what it was like to add an all-powerful artifact and an old nemesis to that equation.

“I thought,” Loki said, wearily, “that it would be best if, for the time being, the tesseract disappeared.  This lake, you may know, was quite a convenient place for it to be stowed safely.”

Tony shook his head.  “What do you mean?”

“One of the oddities of this lake is that there is no oxygen in the water below a depth of twenty meters and there exists a layer of sunken tree trunks floating half-way to the bottom.”

Tony’s eyes widened.  “Diving would be impossible.  They’d never be able to search the floor.  So they’d have to dredge.  Which would be even more difficult and time consuming.”

“Indeed.”

“So you’re hoping the war ends before they find it,” Tony surmised.

“I am hoping they never find it at all,” Loki said.

Tony nodded.  “It would be best if it just stayed at the bottom of the lake forever.”

When Loki didn’t immediately agree, Tony looked up at his face.  There was something there, something Loki wasn’t telling him.  Something that spelled too much trouble than Tony ever, _ever_ wanted. 

“What does that face mean?  What scheme have you got going, and why do I feel like I’m going to be playing the starring role in it?”

“The case has been made,” Loki began slowly, “that to hide the tesseract away could be a potential waste.  In the right hands it could do the world a great deal of good.”

“We’ve been over this, Loki.  The problem is knowing what hands are the right ones.”

Loki cleared his throat.  “Yes, that is the issue.  But my comrades and I agreed that one person could be trusted to decide.  Someone who perhaps knew both the potential and potential dangers of using the tesseract.  Who perhaps did not want that responsibility.”

“Please say you’re talking about Pope Pius XII.”

Loki smiled.  “No, Tony.”

Tony shook his head. “No.  You cannot put this on my head.  I can barely take care of myself, how am I supposed to handle an earth-ending artifact?”

“I have every faith in you.  You know what could happen if you fail to keep it safe and you are understandably wary of such a fate.  So you will do everything you can to make sure it never happens.  I can think of no better qualification.”

Tony shook his head mutely.  He couldn’t do this.  He needed Pepper just to make sure he didn’t drink himself to death.  How was he supposed to handle _this?_

“You are a scientist,” Loki continued.  “Surely you want to see what you could do with unlimited energy?”

Tony stared at him. Unlimited…?  Did he not know what this thing was capable of?  Of course he did, he just somehow thought Tony could deal with it. 

“This is all theoretical, though,” he said somewhat desperately.  “There’s no way to truly find it.  Not before the Nazis or Americans do.”

Loki smiled, and it was somewhat sad, maybe guilty, Tony thought.  He reached inside his jacket, hissing at using his bandaged hands, and placed a familiar piece of equipment into Tony’s hands. 

Tony stared at it mutely.  His receiver.  But that meant—Tony laughed weakly.  That meant that at the bottom of the lake, banging around in the glass cylinder with the tesseract, there was an ugly broach-shaped transmitter, steadily sending out its signal to Tony and only Tony.

They were all doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lake is based on Lake Toplitz, a real body of water where millions of counterfeit pounds sterling were dumped and have never been recovered because of the reasons stated above. 
> 
> It looks like the next chapter *should* be the last, but I plan at least three epilogues in the form of one-shots. There we'll tie up some loose ends.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	45. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

Loki left a still rather stunned Tony in the passenger car and went to fetch Peter.  The young man was listening studiously as Rhodes explained the dials and switches of the control panel.  He looked up when Loki opened the door. 

“Did you see this?” he asked excitedly.  “It’s _so_ wicked.”

Loki smiled faintly as Peter jabbered on about the mechanics at work in the train’s engine.  Though Loki found it about as interesting as watching paint dry, it was really quite nice to see Peter happily engrossed in something that genuinely interested him, Loki thought.  He sometimes forgot that despite Peter’s intelligence and competence, he was still very young.  Here, with his eyes alight with new knowledge, he looked all of his—what was it now, sixteen?  Sixteen was so _young._

At sixteen, Loki had been worried about asking Sif for her company at a ball and not making a fool of himself on athletics day.  His most stressful moments were the week before exams and forgotten textbooks. Peter should have that, not war, or prison, or the damned tesseract.

Loki shook his head.  Peter could still have that. There were no further obstacles on the way to England.  They would go to the British and American consulates in Switzerland and be transported to their prospective countries. 

And then…and then, they would likely never see each other again.  Loki was still a member of British Intelligence, Peter was still a Private in the United States Army.  Their paths would be unlikely to cross after they parted. 

Loki took solace in the fact that Peter could return to a normal life, perhaps return to high school and then go on to college, learn about the things that got that unabashedly happy look on his face. 

A thought crossed Loki’s mind. 

Would Peter be returned to civilian life?  What happened to returning prisoners of war?  Loki assumed that their escape would be publicized for propaganda purposes, but after the clamor died down, what then?  Would Peter be returned to active duty?  Would he be returned to the front?

Well, Loki would not stand for that, certainly.

Some of Loki’s thoughts must have showed on his face, because Peter paused in his explanation of how the airbrake pump actually worked to peer at Loki’s face. 

“You look,” he said, pausing slightly, “tired.”

Loki sighed.  “I am sorry to interrupt you.  I have not seen you so carefree in quite a while.  If you would like to remain, I—“

Peter shook his head with a smile.  “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he said.

Loki nodded.  “Of course.  Lead the way.”

Peter brushed past him and began walking swiftly towards the back of the train.  Loki followed at a more sedate pace, mindful of his cracked ribs and injured shoulder.  The adrenaline had worn away slowly and now he was beginning to feel each and every blow he had been dealt.

They passed Tony, who was no longer stunned, and seemed to be scribbling some kind of equation onto an old piece of newspaper with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.  He did not so much as glance up when Loki and Peter passed. 

“Looks like he got over the shock,” Peter said with a grin.

Loki nodded warily.  “Let us hope his zeal does not outweigh his common sense,” he said cautiously. 

“Don’t worry, Boss.  We made the best choice.”

Loki nodded.  He knew Peter was right, but he was so used to agonizing about the tiniest details, the slightest problems, that he could not seem to stop, even though he knew in his rational mind that it would be alright.  And even if it was not alright, that it was too late to go back.

They proceeded to the next car—a first class carriage with a series of private compartments—where Clint and Natasha were waiting for them.  They both looked up when they entered the car, but it was Clint who spoke first.

“Did Stark blow a gasket?” He asked with a smirk.

Loki did not have the energy to smile back.  He leaned against the wall and just shook his head no.  “He was quite surprised,” Loki said, “But he seems to have recovered quickly.  Now, where is Schwarz?”

Clint and Natasha exchanged a glance. 

“About that,” Clint began, “We were thinking that maybe since, uh, weren’t, I mean you hadn’t—“

Loki’s tired brain could not make heads or tails of Clint’s babbling.  He turned his gaze to Natasha.

“You’re not going in there.” she said matter-of-factly.  “I’ve already conducted the interview.”

 Loki drew himself up so he was standing—looming really—over Natasha and glared down at her.  “I am perfectly capable—“

“You are not,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest and matching him glare-for-glare.  “You are barely able to keep yourself vertical, let alone speak to that man.”

Loki shook his head at her.  “I am fine.  And I have a rapport with him.  You should have waited.”

Natasha’s scowl darkened.  “That,” she said, biting off each word.  “Is _not_ the definition of rapport.”

Loki glanced at Clint.  He shrugged.  “You have to admit, Lieutenant, you kind of got beat to hell. You look like you’re gonna collapse any minute.  It was better that Natasha speak to Schwarz.  Besides, he agreed.  That’s the important part, right?”

Loki scowled.  “I could have done it.”

Peter patted his shoulder.  It felt rather like a sledge hammer blow to Loki.  Maybe they did have a point.  “Come on, boss,” Peter said.  “What’s done is done.  And you seriously need to learn to delegate.”

Loki’s frown did not abate, but he did allow the others to steer him into the shared car at the middle of the train where the rest of the prisoners and Asgardians were sitting. 

Loki immediately sank into a seat across from Thor and Hogun, beside Sif.  Peter stayed standing, hovering nearby. 

“What is wrong, brother,” Thor said when he saw Loki’s frown.  “Is something the matter with the train?”

Clint shook his head.  “No, Natasha talked to Schwarz and deprived him of the opportunity to gloat.  So now he’s sulking.”

Thor frowned terrifically.  “What more is to be said to the man?  Surely he is to be killed for his crimes?”

Loki shook his head, his glare still fixed on Clint.  “No, we need him to report to his superiors that the tesseract went into the lake.”

Thor looked confused.  “But why would he say anything you wished him to say?”

Natasha and Clint took seats across the aisle from Sif and Loki, facing Fandral and Volstagg.

“Schwarz is in a bit of a mess right now,” Natasha explained.  “Not only has he lost the tesseract, but he’s offended foreign officials, and conducted acts against the Geneva convention in Switzerland itself.  I simply reminded him of these facts, and the ease with which they could be used to send him to Asgard for punishment, and he agreed to my terms.”

“What terms were those?” Hogun asked. 

Natasha smiled.  “Only that he pass on whatever information he hears from his superiors to me, and that he disseminate any false information I wish to give him.”

Hogun raised an eyebrow.  “Tough terms,” he said. 

Natasha shrugged.  “The German people seem to find your justice system even more terrifying than their own. Serving prison terms in your country is a powerful threat.”

“Oh, he would not serve in any prison, I can assure you,” Thor growled. 

Natasha’s lips twitched.  “Exactly.”

Loki smiled from where he was slumped rather bonelessly against Sif’s side.  He was quite happy with Schwarz’ fate.  The man would hopefully prove useful before he was inevitably discovered as a double agent. 

And it was rather pleasing that his friends seemed so willing to defend him.  The light true vengeance in Natasha’s eyes was quite sweet.  Was it sweet? Yes, he decided, wishing the death of his torturer was definitely sweet.

***

Peter pretended not to notice when Loki drifted off to sleep against Sif’s shoulder.  The boss obviously needed the rest.  Peter was secretly relieved Natasha and Clint had taken care of interview while Loki was occupied with Tony.  The last time Loki was alone in a room with Schwarz, he’d left with two mottled and bloody leather gloves for hands.  Peter didn’t want to see what would occur if that were allowed to happen again. 

The rest of the carriage had lapsed into silence.  Peter nudged Clint’s leg. 

“How do you think the others are doing?” he asked. 

Clint didn’t have to ask what he meant.  He glanced over at Coulson and Steve, who were standing by the door, before answering. 

“Seems like word got out there was going to be an escape.  Coulson took care of some of the guards, but there’s no way of knowing how it affected their chances.  I’d say we’d be lucky if ten men get out of the country and back home free and clear.”

Peter nodded slowly.  He knew that the odds were against them from the start.  Just getting the tunnel dug without being discovered was difficult enough, not to mention sneaking out of the country when scores of people were looking for you, ready to report you at any moment.  But ten?  Out of two-hundred and fifty?  It was horribly discouraging.  Thor seemed to agreed. 

“Surely there would be more?  Are the odds truly that low?”

Clint shrugged.  “It’s not just getting out of the camp.  Then there’s getting out of the country and into the neutral neighbors. And all the borders know you’re coming, and if it isn’t the searching soldiers, it’s the Hitler Youth or some neighborhood watch or even a damn German shepherd—the dog kind I mean—nipping at your heel.”

Steve nodded, chipping in, “And even if you do make it to a friendly country—say France—you’d better have connections with the Resistance, or you might end up stranded, not knowing who to trust.”

“And you’d better hope your Resistance buddies trust the right people, too,” Coulson added.  “There have been moles in the Resistance before, and that never turns out very well.”

Peter was beginning to feel queasy.  He was very glad to already be out of Germany, but he couldn’t help feeling a sort of helpless empathy with those still trapped inside the country.  His queasiness must have shown because Clint clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“They’ll be fine, Petey,” he said.  “Even if they don’t all make it home, they’ll at least give the Germans a run for their money.”

Peter nodded.  He supposed that would have to be good enough.  And it wasn’t like the Germans could do anything to the prisoners.  It was against the Geneva convention to kill escaping prisoners of war.  And the Germans seemed to be still abiding by those rules.  They always let the Allied prisoners have their Red Cross packages, at least.

He couldn’t help but the tiniest feeling of uncertainty that seemed to burrow into his chest.

Clint seemed to sense it, because he pulled Peter down to sit next to him on the seat. 

“So, Petey, you gonna visit your girl soon as we get home?”

Peter blushed.  “I guess so,” he mumbled, embarrassed to be talking about it in front of the Asgardians, who were all studiously pretending not to listen. 

“What’s her name again?  Mathilda?  Methuselah?  Macgillicuddy?” 

“Mary-Jane,” Peter said, feeling his ears go red. 

Natasha reached over and flicked Clint on the ear.  “Leave the kid alone,” she said sternly, though there was a smile fighting its way onto her face.  “How about you?” she said, looking at the Asgardians.  “Heading home?”

Hogun nodded.  “We will conclude our business in Switzerland and return.  Not, I think, through Germany this time, though.”

Peter noticed that Hogun’s inclusive gesture seemed to exclude Sif, and that she seemed to be avoiding the conversation.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he felt about that.

“And what about you?” Peter asked Natasha, seeing an opportunity to get back at Clint.  “Any chance of wedding bells in your future?”

He half expected her to roll her eyes and flick his ears, but she only turned and looked at Clint expectantly, as if seconding the question. 

Clint, rather than blushing and stammering as expected, only shrugged. 

“What do you think, Tasha?  Up for it?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows.  “Ready to hitch your wagon to mine and ride off into the sunset?”

The Asgardians all seemed to be having trouble keeping straight faces and Thor was openly sniggering behind his hand. 

Natasha rolled her eyes in a way that seemed to include everyone in the carriage, and likely the train.  “I hope you’re not being serious, Clint, because if that was an honest proposal, I might have to teach you the value of class,” Natasha said sweetly, but still in a way that promised castration for any man who crossed her.  Peter was not the only one who gulped. 

Clint just laughed, snaking an arm around her and giving her a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Trust me, Tash.  When I propose it’ll be lousy with class.  All that champagne and pink roses and those really schmaltzy violin players.  All the works.”  He winked, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. 

Natasha chuckled, a low, rare sound.  Peter, who had witnessed Clint’s fearlessness in the face of Natasha before, was not surprised, but a glance around the rest of the carriage revealed he was quite alone.  Thor’s jaw had dropped in chock, Sif was looking at Clint with some sort of fascinated interest on her face, Fandral looked like he wanted to study at Clint’s feet, and Volstagg had actually stopped eating the endless supply of peanuts he’d been mainstreaming since getting on the train.  

It was Thor who broke the stunned silence with a laugh, and like a break in the dam, everyone seemed to be laughing, even Hogun and Coulson cracked a smile. 

Loki shifted at all the sudden noise and mumbled into Sif’s shoulder, “What is funny?”

Sif smiled down at him.  “Barton’s definition of class,” she said drily. 

Loki nodded.  “Humorous, indeed,” he said, turning his face into the seat and seeming to fall asleep once more. 

That provoked another round of laughter from the carriage. Maybe, Peter thought as he giggled into his hand, it wasn’t really very funny, but he couldn’t help a feeling of elation.  It had been so long since he’d felt anything without the underlying thread of apprehension and fear.  But they were out of the woods now, free and clear and Peter’s heart felt unburdened for the first time in months.

They were still chuckling when the door from the front of the train opened, and Tony came through, still scribbling on his scrap of newsprint.

“Rhodey says half an hour to Basel,” he said, looking up from his work to glance around the room.  He did a double take when he noticed that everyone seemed to be smiling. 

“Was there a nitrous oxide leak or something?  Why is everyone so happy?” he asked, finally giving the carriage his full attention.

“Clint proposed,” Peter said, a sing-song note creeping into his voice.

“Oh, no wonder you all seem to be doing mediocre impressions of hyenas,” Tony said, leaning against the doorframe.  “Did the unfortunate woman say yes?  Should I offer my condolences?”

“The unfortunate woman will let you know,” Natasha answered drily, leaning around Clint and Peter to look at Tony.

Tony grinned.  “Don’t let it go too long, or you might miss the opportunity for a double wedding.”

A sort of stunned silence fell in the carriage.  Tony Stark, legendary playboy was getting married?  It was about time, of course, his engagement with Miss Pepper Potts was well-known and long lasting, but this was something else. 

Clint was the first to break the silence.   “You’re finally tying the knot?” He asked. 

Tony laughed.  “No, of course not!  I mean, yes, but not right now.  I’m far too young.  I meant Captain Romance over there,” he said, nodding towards Steve.  “Don’t think I didn’t see those letters to a Peggy Carter back in England.”

Steve blushed a deep maroon color.  “Those were private,” he hissed, looking too embarrassed to be angry.

“And incredibly beautiful,” Tony said, shameless.  “You _are_ planning on marrying her, aren’t you Captain Chivalry?  She sounds like a firecracker.”

Steve blushed even darker if that was possible, and nodded slightly.

Coulson clapped him on the back.  “Congratulations, Steve,” he said.  “You’ll make a very handsome couple, I’m sure.”

“What about you, Coulson,” Clint asked.  “Didn’t I hear you talking about a cellist somewhere out there waiting for you?”

Coulson smirked.  “Her name is Doris, and I’m afraid there is no wedding in our future, considering we’ve been married for thirteen years already.  Unfortunately, I won’t see her for a while yet, I think.  After I deliver news to my superiors, I’ll probably be redeployed into Germany.”

Those words seemed to sober the carriage.  Peter had almost forgotten exactly what they were leaving behind.  But before he could sink into brooding, Clint spoke again. 

“So, Stark, if there’s no romance in your future, what will you be doing with your long bachelorhood?” he asked, smirking slightly. 

Tony waggled his eyebrows.  “The presence of bachelorhood, does not always mean the absence of romance, as you well know, Barton.” He said.  “But I believe I will be busy destroying my father’s legacy and turning my company towards a potentially staggering whirlpool of failure by going into the energy business.”

Coulson seemed to wade through the implications of that first.  “You’re going to change Stark Industries into an energy company?” he asked, looking as gobsmacked as someone like Coulson could.

Tony nodded, tucking the newsprint into his inside pocket.  “Energy is the way of the future, Coulson.  Weapons only destroy.  I want to _build_ something in this lifetime.”

Peter’s eyes widened.  “So you’re going to stop making weapons?” he asked.

Tony shook his head.  “Not yet.  We still have a war to fight, and I think little things like being accused of treason could put a damper on my plans, but I figure after the war is over, we can make a full conversion into energy.  Start rebuilding after the war.”

Peter nodded.  It sounded like a good plan to him.  A worthy task for the tesseract to be part.  After so much violence in the name of it, it seemed only fair that the tesseract’s power would be used in the service of restoration. Peter glanced at Loki, still asleep, and thought he would approve as soon as he heard, as well.

***

Loki blinked awake when the train pulled into Basel station.  His body felt like one big bruise as he sat up stiffly.  It seemed the rest of the occupants of the carriage, save Sif, had already left, presumably to gather captives and other essential tasks.  Loki would feel guilty for sleeping through these last few jobs, but his hands throbbed and his chest hurt, and he was pretty sure he would have been no help even if he had been awake.

Sif was looking down at him with two parts concern and one part amusement in her expression.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were planning on staying on this train for the rest of your life,” she said.  “You looked quite content to sleep here forever.”

Loki shrugged.  It hurt.  “I would not rule it out.  I do not trust myself to move, quite honestly.”

Sif nodded and settled further into her seat, seemingly content to stay with him if he took up residence in the train.

“So what are you planning next?” Sif asked with a little smirk.  “Any schemes in the works?”

“Not really.  I am going to get Peter discharged from the American Army, though.”

Sif gave him a look.  “Meaning you will convince him to reveal his age to his superiors,” She said.  It was not a question.

“I was—“

“You were going to convince him to reveal his age to his superiors,” Sif repeated, glowering down at him.  “You were _not_ going to go behind his back and reveal his age to the U.S. Army and get him discharged that way.”

Loki nodded.  “It seems I was.”

There was a small silence. 

Loki smiled a little sadly and made himself ask the question he had not wanted to ask, not ever, for fear of the answer. 

“Are you going back to Asgard now?” he said and, coward that he was, he could not quite meet her eyes to read the rejection he was sure was written there.

Sif sighed, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut.

Sif reached out, taking his face in gentle hands and angling it so she could see him.  He slowly opened his eyes to look into hers.

“You know,” Sif said, looking at him sadly, “I do not understand how you can plan for the most unlikely situations and then not see the inevitable when it befalls you.”

Loki frowned in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

She kissed him, hard and fast and it took the breath right out of him. 

“I mean, you idiot, that I will not be returning to Asgard.  That is, if you would not mind me accompanying you to England.”

Loki blinked.  “Of course not.  I mean, I would not mind—I mean I would be very glad of your company.”

“Good.  Because I have already informed Thor and Hogun to make my excuses to your mother and the Captain of the Guard.”

Loki nodded slowly.  “But why—you worked so hard to get into the Guard, you cannot just leave.”

Sif raised an eyebrow at him.  “I can do as I please,” she said warningly.  “Just because I am going with you does not mean that changes, I will tell you that now.”

Loki shook his head, dismissing it.  “But why would you?  Why would you leave Asgard?  The Guard itself? You love that place, it is a part of you.”

Sif sighed again.  “Loki, I can be a warrior anywhere.  My skills do not limit me to a geographical area.  And I am not _just_ a warrior, nor do I desire to be simply a warrior.  I want to be more than that, and I want to be more than that with you.  And if you will not come to me in Asgard, then I will follow you to England.  It is that simple.”

Loki shook his head.  “You cannot just give up everything you ever wanted to come with me.”

“You are not listening, Loki.  I am not giving anything up.  I will still be what I am, but I will have more, because I will have you.  Did you think that I wanted my life to be only fighting and drinking, and nothing more?  I want so much more, and I want it with you.  So either tell me that you will not give me what I want, and I will return to Asgard, or shut your mouth and let me kiss you.”

Well there was no choice there, Loki knew.  His mouth closed with a snap and Sif kissed him into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Puck just end her over-long war narrative with a kiss? Hells yes and without shame. I even pictured a sun coming over the horizon out the window to complete the cliche. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who made it through all 100+ words of this fic. I take off my nonexistent hat to you for wading through all of it. Thanks especially to everyone who commented and kudos, you keep the derisive inner voices that plague my mind at bay. 
> 
> I have the start of three-ish epilogues in the works, and I hope to get them up before the end of the month because I'm planning on doing NaNoWriMo this year.
> 
> Thanks again, you are all glorious, patient, beautiful human beings (or other, I don't judge) and I wish you luck in all your endeavors.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.


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